I wish

I wish

I was normal
By “normal” I mean to not feel so much.

To work a nine to five job

come home

do the dishes

watch tv

maybe go to gym and sleep

eight hours a night.

Take medication for anxiety perhaps.

Go to a therapist instead of write.

By normal I mean not thinking about

writing and the words screaming out.

And I never can be anyone

but who I am. I know this.

And who cares? Aleppo is

in a holocaust and I cried

again this morning at the

children dying

and here I am

in a line-up

waiting for my latte

while others wait to die.

Who wants a dose of reality

with their illusions?

Canada is beautiful

nature its protector

and mostly now because

you are here with me.
I wonder so many times

what it feels like to not feel

the sky so intensely

or the music so deeply

or the words so tragically

or not to cry all the fucking time

because the emotions are just too

overwhelming.

In the end we always

want to be someone else.

My mole is too big

my breasts too large,

and others cannot walk.

I know the bullshit

but I contribute to it.

I wish to stop these thoughts

then you tell me you want me

and nothing matters

but the hours I spent with you.
And this was a mini-type essay of sorts

of all the words I meant to say

but got lost

staring into your hazel eyes.

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