Let me indulge
I want to shine on in the hearts of men.
I want a meaning from the back of my broken hand.
I want to be pretty.
I want thick hair so that I can walk under strong lighting and not feel betrayed.
I want thick brows so that my face is not windowless and bare.
I want thick lashes so that I can keep wishing upon a fallen one, batting them ever so slightly that one after the other would fall for me.
I want cheekbones so sharp that my lover bleeds upon caressing them.
I want a frame so lean that I can throw anything on and not have to waste time finding clothes that flatter.
I want a body so fit that I can wear next to nothing in this stupid climate without looking obscene.
I want to not feel embarrassed when I make the effort to dress up.
I want to not feel paranoid when people look at me when I dress up.
I wish I were smarter. People respect you when you’re less likely to spout rubbish every other second, right?
I wish I were more aesthetically-inclined. People just can’t get enough of shiny, pretty, little things, can they?
I wish I could really play an instrument. Mastering it, pouring your emotions into it and having a voice without needing to say anything.
I wish I could really sing. Lucky bitches do not know how painful it is to have to hide your ugly awkward masculine voice, to hide your emotions, to hide your very being.
I wish I were pretty.