I wish I may,

I wish I might,

have this wish,

I wish tonight,

of Annapurna ,

and golden pools,

a luxury resort,

a Nepali jewel,

a mud bath,

in magic slush,

blessings from,

Buddhist monks,

walk the village,

soak it in,

absorb calm,

into the skin,

but if this wish,

be just fable,

I’ll settle for,

food on the table.

Suffering is being here, but wanting to be somewhere or someone else.

I don't want to be here.

I don't want to be me.

I wish I was free.

If wishes were worries, I would be rich

There's not a problem money can't solve

not a scratch it can't itch

If wishes were worries, I wouldn't be sitting here

wondering if my future might ever be clear

But the thing is, 

Wishes aren't worries, and worries won't make you rich

So there's little use sitting here, pretending I'm scratching that itch

There's times I say I worry too much

Then again, there's a little voice who convinces me such 

I guess it's safe to say: I wish I didn't worry

But that doesn't make worry go away. 

I wish the world

Would learn to accept 

And embrace 

Change

I wish people would understand

That I am ME

And I will not change

Because of some one else

It does not matter

What sexuality you are

Because you

You are human

Whether you be straight

Or gay

Or bi

We are all equal

No one is 

Above anyone else

No one is

Better than anyone else

Love is love

The heart should be

Free to choose

What it wants

I just wish

That the world

Could understand

And accept this

there was a world without suffering, without pain, without him in it.  The man who smiled in the candlelight at me, who pulled me from the water as I gasped for air, for life only to have made me suffer, feel that pain until the day I died.  The day he held me under the surface too long.  The day I really drowned; not play anymore. He couldn't revive me that time. He had messed up, pushed too far.  I hadn't even struggled I had dove deeper I wanted it to be over, my only choice, my only chance to escape was my death.

The way he pulled me from the water, and stroked my hair, kissed my forehead and told me that I was a good girl.  Oh how he loved me he would go on. Clean me up, dry and warm and tuck me into bed, after he had done all he liked to me.

Psychopath would be a nice name for him, he is a monster.  Although he may be sobbing into my cold wet chest, he doesn't feel it like a normal human being, its not the first time this has happened. I am not his first.

As he plunged my head under the water this time had felt different and I welcomed it. Death, my final escape.

As he lifts his head from my body, his eyes like that of a child full of remorse and sadness they go dull, angry, accomplished as he pulls his lips into a smirk and drags my body to the hole in the ground just outside the door next to the row of markers, I'm number thirteen.

I wish for nothing, there is no point to wishing. . . Not anymore. Wishing implies there is hope, a well of good, positive emotion somewhere inside a person, and I don't understand such things.

Not anymore. 

Centuries do that to a person, it's one of many curses of having an old soul. The long years have a tendency to destroy hope, and diminish the need for wishes. The dead have little use for wishing, and that's what I am—A living-dead thing. A creature crafted by the choices of others, by their sorrow, anger, hurt, and hatred. I'm a product of my environment, and a collection of experiences. I am a child that has seen more horrors in a year than most have in a life-time.

See, I wish for nothing because a wish is hope, and hope comes from living. I've simply lived enough already, it's time to rest. 

© J.N. Sheats

Oh how I wish...

We could all live as children

So innocent and free

With little responsibility

Everything so beautiful

Absolutely magical

To a child not cynical

Unafraid to question

Ready to make-believe

Before we have to grieve...

Over the loss of our purity

Happiness so true

Yes, we'll have to start anew

I wish it weren't so...

That we must leave it behind

And become so very blind

We are the same.

That which holds me above,

I wish to give to you;

as that which I am lacking,

I will take from you.

And somehow,

at the very end of this transition,

there will be no difference,

between either of us…

for we shall both exist,

as one.

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Alan Salé

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