Dollhouses & War

The first attempt at proper poetry and the next and the next.
"Not a tea stain, but a rain stain,"
"Does my heart tangle like headphones in a pocket?"
"...mascara tears registers exhilaration under rapid music beats. "
"Love is the only blood we will bleed as / Together we fall into a rainstorm."

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11. I want to be...

#ELEVEN

 

I want to walk on the moon.

Just to say that I have.

Just to say that I can.

Just to be a child in an adult’s body,

Pretending that silver floors

Were moon dust.

That cupboards were craters,

And that mottled sweeping brushes

Were flag poles.

 

I want to be the Queen of Space.

Just to say that I have been royal.

Just to say that I can be a Queen,

In an unroyal body, of such an unwise age.

Pretending that bed hair

Was a modest crown,

Or a paper crown.

That stones were jewels,

Newly discovered

And pink.

That neighbours

Were kings or princes,

Or rulers of forgotten lands that I had faced.

 

I want to be the President.

Just to say that I have been.

Just to say that I could.

Pretending that the newsreels

Were my powers.

That wars were my troubles,

Ready to be washed away

By a flick of a hand.

 

I want to be a Pianist.

Just to say that I was.

Just to say that I was capable.

Pretending that music were actions,

Laying down laws.

That fingers pushed

Were footsteps

In the right direction.

That head bent down to unheard sounds

Were concentration that I could never manage.

 

I want to be different from what I call myself.

Just to say that I have been so many versions of myself.

I want to conquer what I call myself

And reinvent the definition of the word.

To be powerful and free and magnificent

In myself.  

 

I want to be myself.

But different.

But better.

But me. 

 

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