I want to rest my bones in a box, not in a bed.
I want to speak words aloud, not just in my head.
To stop pondering the feelings I know I can’t place.
To stop wrestling with the pleasant idea of suffocating in space.

I long to look at the sun thinking of warmth instead of fire.
Or to enjoy the pages of a book without thinking “Its fictional people I admire.”
To travel down roads knowing all there will be to greet me are dead ends.
To feel anything in my heart that won’t take me months to mend.

But most of all, I want to feel,
a little less conflicted, and a lot more real.



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