Feeling:
Listening to:
Reading/Watching:

I want to stand on a rooftop under a dome of stars, hold my arms up high, and spin until I fall over.

I want to dance like a cross between a ballerina and a figure skater until the wind picks me up and carries me through the air.

I want to turn the music up loud and soar along with it, particularly something like "Precious Things" by Tori Amos.

I want to curl around a microphone stand and skat like there's no tomorrow, wearing a sparkly green dress and surrounded by jaw-dropped saxophones and drummers.

I want to open the palm of my hand and beckon life to me, like the women in legends, the women in songs. I want the curve of my lips to ransom kingdoms.

I want the soul of Maya Angelou, with hips that sway like her poems. "Phenomenal woman, that's me."

I want to tilt back my head and let loose a note that breaks glass and shatters through my throat, cleaning out every frustration, every need, every ounce of anguish or fear or insecurity, just pushing them out on a tide of sound, like a fountain. I want it to radiate to my elbows and toes and the roots of my hair and cover me with an enamel so hard nothing ever gets through.

I want to cry and have it be the very last time I do it.

I want to take a breath so deep it fills me with helium and I fly right up into space, seeing more than I ever have. I want to be the fly who explored the glowing blue light and then ::zap::

I want to hang my heart on my sleeve and let it blind people with how it shines so brightly.

I want to close my eyes and see my future and my past, all in one, so I know where I'm going and how far I've come. (I have come pretty far. Remembering who I was at nine, I'm no longer afraid of who I'll be at twenty-nine.)

I want to stand on a turntable and watch the world swirl around me. People, places. I want to watch them blur and see how very, very temporary life is, how I have to grab it in both hands and dig in my heels and live it by the skin of my teeth and never, ever be afraid again, because every second spent being afraid is a second I could have spent being alive.

I want to close my hands into fists and feel the weight of everything I've ever felt- every sorrow, every pain. And I want to feel how they were never that heavy after all. Because I carried them.

I want to know my own strength.

I want to touch a pen to a page and see it radiate colors, as if I've spilled an inkpot of iridescent violent vibrant vivid emotion, like it's me shining there, leaking into the cracks, indomitable.

I want to believe I'm beautiful. I want someone else to tell me I am. I want to be so beautiful I don't need people to tell me I am.

I want someone to let me save them. I want someone to realize I need saving.

I want to feel wind in my hair, combing it into a wild mess, standing on a huge rock looking out over a huge green sea, feeling the sun and the air and the life of it just drift right through me, holding me upright so I'm tall and so strong.

I want to wrap this feeling into a knot and keep it for always, in a box in my desk drawer, so I can pull it out and be unstoppable.

This could go on forever. It might later.

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