I Can't Seem To Do Anything Right So Leave Me. No Please. Save Me The Leaving I Hate That Part Most.

i can't seem to do anything right so leave me. no please. save me the leaving I hate that part most. i'm messy work. i don't love properly, i either swallow it whole. or can't stomach it. they both hurt. everything hurts.

this isn't my first time loving... but i haven't learnt anything it seems. i’m still messy work. you can't save me... no matter how much i wish you could.

a list of everything i want and more.

i want to never come back to the house i grew up in after. i want to die in it. i want to be ten. i want to be eleven, six, seven and eight. i want to never feel as helpless as i did as a kid. i want to wear short sleeves in the summertime and not consider the scars. i want water balloon fights and i want to give out halloween candy to the neighborhood kids. i want to never speak to my mother again, and i want to hold her hand in her final moments. i want to be her daughter, i want to be something she is proud to call her own. i want her to never find out where i have moved to, never visit me, never see me, never talk to me. i want to forget my mother, and i want my mum back. i want children. i want to live alone. i want to be a mother. i want to brush my daughter's hair gentler than mine was, and i want her to wear the same onesies my mum kept. i want her to have my mother's last name and her mother's first name as her middle name. i want to provide her with the comfort i felt i had to earn, i want her to never feel like she's on her own beneath my roof. i want her to look out into the night, and be reminded no matter how far she is, i am only a call away. i want to have home videos my son can look back on, i want him to know he is my sun. i want to watch him build his life, and i want him to i am proud of him every single day. i want to carry my child on my shoulders and i want to point to the constellations, naming them all right, i want to lie to them to tell them there is one unnamed and it is theirs to call their own. i want to marry some girl i met in high school who has a boring last name, like Smith or Johnson, or some girl whose heart is far more open than my own i met in college. in some kind of movie way, the way that makes others believe love still exists. i want a girl who loves me like she doesn't know gentle hands still have nails. i want her to remind me i am alive. i want her to love me so harshly and beautifully i have no choice but to become religious, i want her to give me faith i am afraid of. i want her to love me like a dog, so i can know why didn't i leave when it was me. i want a girl who loves me quietly, who is shy when she asks to kiss me. i want a wife. i want a girlfriend. i want to be the love of someone's life. i want to be somebody's someone. i want it to be you i want to move in with my friends and i want to never live a day in life alone again. i want a tiny sunlight house, only one of everything because it's just me and a dog i want a busy schedule, and i want to go out on a wednesday afternoon to the store, or movies i want to be a writer, full-time. i want to be good enough to have burnout. i want to be great or nothing. i want someone to look back at my work fifty, eighty, a hundred and ten years from now and think, "i want to meet you, i want to know how you could understand me without ever knowing me, i want to know if im not alone." i want to be on the other side of the "you saved my life" comments, and messages. i want to understand myself, not for reconstruction but for pure interest. i want to know who i am so that i can fix myself, but also so i don't become my parents.

i want to know myself, so i can know if i am good enough, if the praise is only surface level. i want to be surface level, i want to be mediocre so i have an excuse to give up. i want to go to an art college, i want to be able to pay for it in cash. i want money. i want to be a teacher, high school, or college professor. i want to like loud environments. i want to be an extrovert, i want to like who i am when i am not alone. i want to have a voice that feels like my art, i want a voice that could carry the weight of my heart. i want a body that i can look at and not wonder if everyone i have ever loved only felt pity for me. i want to feel clean, and i miss her sometimes. i want to have said no. i want to be clean, i want to never crave that again, i want to be my biggest enemy. i want to get to myself first, so when other people do at least i already accepted that. i want to not be queer, i want to not be me, i want to be me. i want to be a man, i want to be a woman or something in between. i can't easily explain in casual conversation. i want to be a drag queen, and i want my grandmother to call me her grandson. i want to transition in the country i was raised in, i want my real name next to my poetry. i want my friends and i to grow old in the bodies we have reclaimed as our own. i want a world where a life like mine, may have been only a phase for others is even possible to conside i want to read poetry about transitioning as a person of color, i want to look up to someone who looks like me. i want to meet people in every walk of life who are like me because day to day, i begin to wonder if i'll even get to see this part of me in the mirror in a year. i want to have a life i want to live, i want a world am not horrified to wake up in. when people speak about my life after i am gone, i want them to not hesitate to say i was queer. i don't want them to set it aside, and brush it over, it is not entirely who i am, but it is a fundamental part of my life that i can't separate myself from. i want the ability to control choices made about my body. i want still snow days and i want a world to wake up in. i want to see the modern world to be modern, i want to see change from what we have said to have learned from. i want a future to look towards, and i want a family and the dream i was raised on, that they said they swore for us when we learned the words to the promise in pre-school. i want to live in some place i've never been, i want to go to ivy, get a medical, law, or engineering degree. i want to be an astronaut, astrophysicist, a tarot card reader. i want my fortune read, i want to believe in god, i want heaven to exist. i want to be a doctor, i want to save lives, and truly know i have changed someone's life. i want to never leave my house again, i want to just doordash all the groceries.

i want to delete all my socials and start all over. personal, creative. i want to be famous, selfishly, i want people to see my name in lights, i want to know that i matter, beyond a tiny pool of names i have memorized. i want my words quoted and my verses in anthologies, i want to be remembered. i want my face to be recognizable, i want to be analyzed, and i want to never die. i want someone to not know me personally but feel as if i am a friend, someone who understands. i want the people who knows me personally, to never catch me in a state of vulnerability, i want to be who my mother had fought for me to be able to be. i want to be a teenage girl and someone's beautiful baby boy. i want to rip out my hair and i want curls. i want to be normal, i want to not wake up one day and randomly want to die all over again. i want my months of progress to not feel meaningless every time i get bad again. i want to kill myself and i want to be a success story that tells of all the ugly the beauty conceals. i want to get bad again. i want to get better, so i can write every day again. i want to try everything i can, i want to find something to numb the feeling i can't name. i want to drown myself, and i want to be able to float without giving in to the urge to look down. i want to know what's wrong with me, and i want to still be interesting. i want to die at twenty and i want to see the twenty-second century.

everyone has someone, and though their someone might change, it will rarely be to somebody who has nobody. i have never felt like anyone's best friend, i've never been sure i'm the one someone thinks of first when they need someone, i've always been the one who understands why things happen. i feel like i will never be anyone's priority, after themselves. i know youth and loneliness have strings interwinting together, hand in hand, and it's all about where you are. people say just wait until you're older, but the older you get the stronger the bonds you don't have are, with each passing year, it's another i can't make up for in a month, i can't make anybody stay and it's frightening because there is no guarantee i will not end up alone. though it may not be physically, i fear nobody will ever be around enough to get to know all of me, watch me change and be able to say that they saw me seven years ago and i still can't pronounce that word right, or say they knew me in highschool all nervous and now have seen me get married.

burn alive from prelude to ecstasy the short film

i am a firsthand witness to my father's anger. i am his only child so engaged in following his footsteps. the apple doesn't fall far from the tree, they say, but i am not an apple and he is not a tree. though his face is oaky and strong and mine is red and blistering, so different yet so alike, what differentiates us from one another will always walk a thin line of existence and delusion. i am still the embodiment of his worst qualities. i still harbor the nature that scared me as a child. though he was understanding and kind, though his eyes were gentle and blue, they could still grow cold. the weathered hands that once cradled me as a child were still capable of bleeding. the comfort in his voice could teeter over the thick bridge of careful consolation and could harden like ice, cold and unloved. i am a firsthand witness to my father's anger. i am the only one so imbued in becoming just like him.

i wish to be a lover. i wish for my hands to be careful and soft. i wish to cradle the fists that have beaten me and wash the feet of those who have kicked me to the ground. i wish to love in any way that is not pathetic or desperate. i wish to be able to express myself without rage. i wish to be without rage. i wish to be without. i wish.

i am the precursor to my mother's misery. my very being is her burden. they tell me that this is what she had signed up for. that this was her duty as a mother. i tell them she should not have given herself up simply to cater to her children. i tell them she should not have given up. there was a time where she was free. where she could dance and sing and laugh without worry. where she could pursue her career and go home to an empty house with a big dog named after a flower. where she could cry and smile and spin around in circles with her arms in the air. where she could run down the streets of the city in the rain with nothing but the clothes on her back and the warmth of her best friend's hand holding hers. i am the precursor to my mother's misery. my existence has only caused her plague.

i wonder about the woman she would have been had I not been born. i wonder how much love she could have felt before she met my father. i wonder if she would have often thought about someone who has not yet existed. i wonder if she would have missed me. i wonder if she misses me. i wonder if she misses. i wonder.

i am a testament to my sister's loneliness. i am the final piece of evidence that everyone will leave her. we had grown close when we were younger. two peas in a pod, is what they had called us. opposite sides of the same coin. best friends on two ends of the same earth. different, yet so, so alike. so similar it makes me want to rot. we grew distant with age and time, as all siblings do, but have never reached that breaking point where we cave in and come back to one another. i wonder if i should have stayed. if i should have reached out one bleary night where the moon was drunk and the stars were slow dancing in the sky. if i could have done anything to make her feel less hollow. if i could remember that i am not her keeper, that her suffering did not have to bleed into mine. i am the testament to my sister's loneliness. i am a monster for not feeling guilty for it.

i crave guilt. i crave to let it consume me and turn me into nothing. i crave to feel something that makes me just a bit more human. i crave to hate leaving her, to regret it for just one moment. i crave to hate her. i crave to hate. i crave

“well i feel to young to hold on, and i’m much too old to break free and run, too deaf, dumb and blind to see the damage i’ve done. sweet lover, you should’ve come over. oh, love and i waited for you”

lover you should’ve come over by jeff buckley