You wish your itchy shoulder blades
could be explained by sprouting wings.
You wish that everyone’s spine grew straight
and strong like the stem of a sunflower.
You wish you knew more about the chambers
of the heart, were more familiar with falling
out the window. You wish you always ran as fast
as you could. That you could pull the hook out
instead of having to push it through your thumb.
You wish crossing midnight were like crossing the
equator. That the equator and midnight were the same.
You wish shame didn’t end with me. You wish cars
still came with rumble seats. You wish you had never
seen how ashes bloomed in water. That breaking
your jaw the second time actually accomplished
something. You wish, you wish, you wish.
You wish the last thing invented wasn’t cancer.
You wish the last time you saw your father
wasn’t on the eighth floor. You wish that each
shovelful of dirt wasn’t in essence, a little grave.
You wish you could hear music inside of the ugly
noises, music instead of the ugly noises, music
made by the ugly noises.


THIS IS YOU WISH by Patrick Meeds



Photo used under CC