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January 5, 2012

I make wishes,
like I wish that I was one of those spare writers,
one of those people who put pen to page
(or fingers to keyboard) and
dripped a few blots of ink
or blood
and formed a few words,
a few lines,
and changed you…

like I wish the way things were
was the way things are,
that my visions came true
just the way I saw them,
just the way I wanted them to be…

like I wish I had power
power to fix things,
to set things to rights,
to shape and mold and control,
and yet…

like I wish
the weather was always perfect
and people weren’t stupid when they drive
and my kids would clean their rooms
and that everybody everywhere had everything they need
and that you could just be who you are
and I could just be who I am
and then,

I stop wishing…

being who I am means I’ll need more words to change you
my visions of what I want are flawed and incomplete and don’t come true
the things I try to fix have a way of working themselves out
and my kids will never, ever keep their damn rooms clean
and I am and you are
and sometimes that works
and sometimes that leaves me wishing,
wishing for what I know I shouldn’t want.

But wishing anyway.

4 Comments leave one →
  1. Joanna permalink
    January 5, 2012 7:18 pm

    Beautiful work.

  2. January 5, 2012 9:38 pm

    I wish I could put my feelings into words like you do…just lovely.

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