I want to live one thousand lives,
And do the things I dream to do.
I want to paint.
To stand in the middle of the highway at two in the morning,
And set up an easel,
And sketch and paint the stars juxtaposed with the lights and signs,
To show that beauty isn’t ruined by the city skyline.
I want to walk.
To walk kilometers for cancer awareness,
And around a lake,
And talk and muse and talk with friends about the good we could do,
To show if we just keep moving, we’ll get somewhere.
I want to read.
To the elderly at the nursing home,
As a princess at my favorite place in the world,
And to tell the stories of letters that go “chicka chicka boom”
And characters that betray friendships and get engaged despite any real connection.
I want to write.
Stories and books that are a reflection,
Mirroring my soul and placating my loneliness,
So that when I wake in the morning,
I am surrounded by understanding.
I want to be.
I want to be the person that I am,
And not the job my degree suggests I should be,
Because when I wake up in the morning and watch the sun rise,
I want to be met with a life.