I used to prefer
nonexistence;
the art of mastering
nothingness,
with no promise of
starting over.
But lately, I've been
reveling in the outcomes
that could be infinite,
alternate realities
bordering each horizon.
If I could exist,
just, not in this form.
Perhaps in the same body,
yet another state of mind.
I imagine this other me,
who may know heartache
still, but may have a chance
at feeling something, anything, else.
This other me is older
and less reserved,
wearing pigtails despite
the split ends,
fluent in a language few
even bother to study,
challenging gravity,
calling others planets home,
wondering where she
(they) originated.
There are moments
where I vividly dream of dying,
of jumping into an ocean of
varying wavelengths,
unframing time,
erasing the identity I spent
too much time crafting into
symmetrical understandings.
And I wonder if I'll ever
reach that somewhere,
if, even in fragments,
I could travel there
and, if it could be possible,
that I stay, forgoing
the consciousness I
bound myself to.
