I Wish
It seems a dangerous indulgence.I cannot erase my past, and equally cannot regret how it shaped who I am.
But if I were to wish.
If I were to go back and smooth out some lines and remove the scars that created battles in my mind I must still face, it would be this:
I wish I was seen.
I wish I was seen for the person they buried.
Before I became buried.
I wish I was protected.
Just long enough for me to build the trust I needed to trust myself.
I wish I didn’t cry alone.
I wish I didn’t learn that my tears were rivulets of weakness, to be hastily wiped away.
I wish that I was introduced to ease.
The kind of comfort I watched others feel when visiting a friend, or simply walking through their life.
I wish I had loved my body.
Rather than feeling trapped by my own skin.
I wish I had found my joy from friendship, sunlight and adventure, rather than a chemical fantasy.
I wish I had peace.
The security needed to breathe long enough to think... what if?
What if I developed my talent for words, for science, for moving my body just right to excel at any sport I chose?
What if I had been given the opportunity to learn?
What if I had someone behind me who believed in me enough to make me do it?
Where would I be now?
How many years did I waste trying to learn while being my only cheerleader?
I wish someone had taught me the difference between love and rescuing.
I wish I had recognised my need to be rescued, before I prostrated my happiness and safety before the feet of all those broken wings.
I wish I had learned to speak before I learned to write.
Writing allowed me a voice I never had, but my heart spent too long hidden on pages bound in solitude.
I wish I had a home.
And never experienced the jealousy that I tried to ignore, or the hurt I refused to contemplate, of why I was never worthy enough to be included.
I wish I could speak to those I love like those I once loved.
Ghostly lovers that whisper words of comfort that I yearn to hear from a voice other than my own.
These are the things I wish.
It is a small indulgence.
A way to pass the time and ease the pressure on my heart.
I am content, and even proud, of my ‘now’.
I arrived here with bleeding feet and a back that refused to bend.
I am in my now with a heart that might be weary, and weary both.
But it still beats.
It still feels.
But yes,
I wish time had not been stolen from me.
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