H.

It’s not something I dared dance with
nor wish for myself
a home on the beach
a space to write, a family
pockets of laughter
in a life otherwise dismal

I did not die

But I did grow a little older
and my wish isn’t so radical
it’s almost realistic that I could
be content in pools and bars
throw my head back
intoxicated with laughter

I am afraid

Of what? Of admitting to anyone
the small things I want when I’m alone
the wishes I have for security
for family and friends who might love me
joy and contentment
outside the praise of others, but simply
I will always miss who else I could be

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