I want to set traps for hollow greetings and small talk. Chain them in dark catacombs where all hope of seeing the light of day will drain right out of them. Slow. Painful. They deserve it. Don’t feel guilty. They’re thick and coincidental like an unseen quicksand I rarely notice myself suffocating in. It happens so slow. I know how low I’ve sunk in it by how low I feel.
What I want is light. What I want is thin.
What I want is conveyances of thoughts that spread me wide open like a projector screen. Painted with colorful concepts that light me up. I deserve it. Feel it with me. Contagious awakenings of creativity, hope and optimism. A lens with an auto focus on what is useful.
What I want is connection, port to port, like man into woman, like merchant ships into harbors, like a network that makes the world smaller. I want to feel my lovers, my friends, even strangers with me in moments. Their breath and heartbeats, dreams and fears, brightest and darkest times. We deserve it. Are you feeling me? Answer! I need to know I’m not so different. I need to feel my reach into others to let them know they’re ok. So that you can stop hurting and so can I.
I want to be the destroyer of barriers. Tearing away manner and pretense whether the souls hanging on to them like it or not. But I don’t.
I want to scream when I hear insincerity. Grab the offender by the collar, cover his mouth with my hand and brush his forehead with a kiss of light lips. But I won’t.
Because I’m in the quicksand here.
And because I’m a good girl.
And because I’m heavy with rules, and an “excellent communicator.”
And because I am the quicksand.