I don't want to want

my words

 I want to

I want to write poetry

I want to write about love

I want to break the myths and Cinderella stories 

while still reaffirming their

something

Cause I’m tired of those stories who only misinform girls about what true love is

I don’t know what true love is

but it’s not some tall dark and handsome man whisking you away to his castle despite an evil witch hexing you with rotten fruit or spindles.

Most days I don’t want to want

but not wanting to want results in wanting something or lack of something anyway.

I hate the word something,

I won’t use it from now on.

 

I think days are long

and I am tired

and in love

with love

and not much else

but my own heartbeat

and my own words splashing across pages 

 

I am poetry

but poetry is usually dark

and open to debate

perhaps a little self-centered

 

Maybe that’s why I don’t get poetry

because we’re too much alike

I’m solid

but quiet

even when I have much to say

 

I’m at my best 

sprawled out in black ink

on off-white paper

written

and looped

and sad

with purpose... although not known

 

But I’m too sorry

about what I think

and feel

I’m too scared

of my emotions

to place the full extent of me anywhere

In words, or thoughts

 

You want the truth?

You can’t handle the truth.*

I promise

neither can I

 

and things are hard for me to understand

like why

and like love

and like why I love

who I love

the way I love them

or even if I truly love them

 

 

I wanna write poetry

like StaceyAnn Chin

or Ani Difranco

or Pablo Neruda

 

I can’t write poetry

I write my feelings

which lands me not in running to be a poet

but a misanthrope

an over-dramatic, over-emotional, feminist (womanist?), daft, passionate

blogger?  diarist?

not even a journalist

not ever a novelist

Boredom is hell

and writing is like looking up at heaven from Hell

And blinking cursors on fluorescent computer screens only make me sick

unless I’m sick of being sick

I wonder why all my stories exist on rainy days?

My mom says God only saves babies and fools...

I know I’m one of those because she said it to me

 

 

I know I haven’t said much of anything

except for something

with a hint of nothing

Some type of scientific approach

would make things 

easier

love doesn’t exist

and neither does happiness

I’ve been hoping these words would help me dig to the bottom of whatever is inside of me

All I’ve ever found was more words.

 

 

*A Few Good Men quote