You see, I want a lot,
but verbalizing
is Vulnerability
and in my head
Cynicism is stronger
than Idealism,
always the big bully,
always laughing in its face.
[Don’t laugh at me.]
You see, I want a lot.
I want art -
all kinds of art,
and not just art,
I want "bad" art,
made with good – the best – supplies,
And I want it up on the fridge
because look,
we made it,
and that means
everything.
I want homemade zines –
Happy zines and sad zines,
food zines and PATB zines,
and everything in between.
I want homemade patches,
homemade clothes,
homemade food.
I want poetry
and essays
and writing anything at all.
I want nice journals
and nice pens.
I want music -
I want to walk into rooms
filled with instruments.
I want nature.
I want Beauty
in all the small things.
I want flowers.
I want a garden,
I want it to be alive with things
all year round.
I want a nice kitchen.
I want herbs by the windowsill.
I want good meals.
I want meals we ****** up
[because we don’t bother with recipes]
but try to eat anyway.
I want frozen pizzas and slushees
and too much candy corn
when it gets to be fall.
I want days of too much coffee.
I want London Fog days.
I want rainy days and
“A handful of puddle”
on repeat.
I want days of lying in bed doing nothing
whether or not we’re sick.
I want travel.
I want days of wandering around cities,
getting lost and
letting our feet
find the way home.
I want unplanned adventures.
I want abandoned rooftops
I want heights.
I want intuition.
I want Hope.
I want friend therapy.
I want solitude.
I want connections.
I want trust.
I want closeness.
I want safety.
I want stability.
I want Honesty.
I want vulnerability.
I want communication.
I want patience.
I want consent.
I want accountability
I want active listening.
I want remembering boundaries and triggers.
I want love -
any kind of safe love:
I want all my friends
to be my significant others.
I want shared meals,
shared feelings,
tea parties and tear parties.
I want good days,
and I want bad days -
the calm and the storm.
I want to lay down my arms,
once and for all.
Call a truce with myself.
I want to look upon
the wreckage within me,
clean it up the best I can,
let the broken parts heal on their own
accept the parts that don’t,
and build a Home within my heart,
imperfect as it is,
so it won’t matter
where I go or who I’m with.
I want to say,
“I am not Afraid –
of my parents
of the expectations of capitalism
of the Future,
of growing old.”
I want to say,
“Yes, there are unknowns,
yes, there will be fear,
but I will be Okay,
I do not have to die
because others did before me.”
[I want to say yes.]
I want to say,
“I do not have to prove anything
because the right people will understand,
and those are the people who matter.”
I want you near,
and if not near,
a voice on the phone,
synchronized meals,
these things will do
in the mean time.
Drag me out of bed for cookies,
let me be sous chef,
Kitchen kitten,
familiar,
scientist ****** wife.
[If you must call me that.]
You see, I want a lot.
And Idealism
is sometimes all I have
To keep me alive,
a wildflower that won’t be killed.
And if you want to know the truth
I don’t want to **** it -
I don’t have the heart.
[Don’t laugh at me.]
This is an older poem and written to a particular person so some of it might not make sense because there are references here and there. I mainly wanted to post this because believe it or not I do have a few poems that aren't doom and gloom and being super sad. And actually I still do feel like this if/when I have Good Days, which seem few and far between. Blatant plagiarism in the title from Rilke, sorry dude, I hope I did your [translated] line justice.
