— And Tell You What I Want. —

Know what you want.

And.

Know how to ask for it.

The two things first learned,

Along with breathing.

And walking.

Its the sole reason we have incentive

To speak, so we won’t be weak,

When it comes to getting what we want.

Why does my breath then catch in my throat,

My blood get bottled up in my heart,

My stomach flooded with acid,

My veins throttled with fire born of glands in my guts,

My brain racing with visions of everything that could possibly go awry,

While I try,

Try so hard,

So very fucking hard,

To look you, someone who might NOT destroy me,

And ask you for the secret things that I want,

The things that to me might as well be oxygen, sunlight,

Maybe even coffee?

Maybe.

What do I want? 

I want not to be terrified of the things I want.

I want to be able to put them into words.

I want your touch to remind me of you,

And not the folks who smilingly stole warmth from between my ribs,

And the surging waves from between my hips. 

And especially, most particularly,

The light behind my eyes.

I want happy.

I want to fall while you hold me.

I want to run and you catch me.

I want to melt from the electricity in your lips.

I want to die and come back to life,

Over and over and over again.

But first, and most importantly,

I want to come out of the tomb that was once my castle,

Take a breath…

And tell you what I want.