I am tired of living every one else’s truth. Here are some of my own truths.
-I want to waitress, I want to make tips and wear a heinous uniform.
-I want a dingy beach condo, that smells damp and sandy.
-I want to learn to play the guitar, I don’t mean just learn a few strings, I want to be Pink Floyd proficient.
-I want to publish poetry. Not wishy washy poetry, but beautiful gritty poetry. The hard to stomach type that revolts and delights all in one.
-I want to do something dangerous.
-I want to see Iowa, I want to walk around and leave a mark on Iowa.
-I want to be in lust, feel the fear and desire in my stomach. The clammy hands and the want.
-I want to be in love.
-I want to go see an underground concert, get caught up in the madness of it.
-I want to sleep in a damp bathing suit, and not worry about being called “musty”.
This is a list of things that I need before I die. Sometimes I think I might die.