You wanted to be a prima ballerina but childhood malnourishment & dire poverty made your bones too weak, your tiny joints crumbled with your dreams.
You wanted to join a nunnery but your parents couldn’t pay your confirmation fees so you chose a different form of devotion—all men, instead of just the one—& promptly lost your virginity.
You wanted to join the army but your back-story, addictions & disordered personality make you ‘a loose fucking cannon’ ‘a ticking time-bomb’ & ‘too much of a liability.’
You wanted to be a florist but have been told that you can’t be trusted with a fork, let alone sharp scissors & the desire to drag thorns across your wrists or grip cacti in your fists makes it all too risky for everybody.
You wanted—more than anything—to be dead, gone, non-existent, but despite your best
efforts, your body never let you: it refused, once again, to give you what you wanted & so
now, seemingly, you have no choice but to be the thing that you don’t want to be: awake,
Originally published by Corporeal Lit Mag.