Sometimes, I wish I could be better.
I long to be.
I wish I was like everyone else.
I want to be good. But sometimes I am just not.
I wish whenever someone tiptoes up to me to tell me I am a good person, I don’t immediately think, Oops…I hope they don’t work it out.
I hope no one can see that I am a fraud, a jinx, a silly little imp inside, with games to play and responsibilities to dodge.
That sometimes I like to just flit about town with a wink and a smile and see what the day brings.
With bad thoughts in my head.. just as many as good.
To cartwheel my way around a sunny town; jazz music all day, tap shoes and strawberries. Clicking and flicking my jumping jacks as I go.
Sticking my tongue out at anyone who tries to stop me with the irksome irritation of their judgement.
They, with their perfect prams and clothes and ability to handle all their daily tasks with intent and dedication.
Them, with their folded washing, perfectly decorated nurseries and gourmet moroccan whatever in a big pot on their table.
I wish I could do it all.
I wish when the washing needs to be folded, the moroccan thingamy needs to be spiced, my mind wants to do it all and do it with ease – instead of wishing it was under the table hiding until it all goes away.
I wish I was good, better, stronger and my brain did what it was supposed to, even if just sometimes.
I wish it wasn’t hard for my head to make me do the things I need to, but it is.
Sometimes I am so weak it feels like I am gurgling down a drain…a sugary sweet treat sometimes seems so impossible for me to turn away from, I do always. But it is gurgly and whirly and hard.
It doesn’t seem to be for my sister. She sometimes eats something sweet and says…”eeeeew yuck, too sweet”.
I watch and think, if that was me I would have inhaled it all in one swoop.
Instead though, I screw up my nose and say “ewwww” just as loudly. What a fraud.
You are beautiful inside and out – that’s what you hear all the time.
I am not so beautiful though.
I think bad thoughts and blow secret, bad wishes about people who irk and jerk me.
People who have what I don’t. A click of the finger and down a deep dark well they fall. Splash.
I lower my head thinking of all the bad things I have called people sometimes when they have hurt me, and sometimes when they haven’t.
Around and around in my head all the little bad thoughts jingle and jangle – phooey to you, you big ugly poo.
Do they know that sometimes I am late, because I am no good at working out how long it takes to not be late?
Do they know that sometimes deep down I don’t want to be there on time anyway…that I wish I wasn’t there at all. Oops.
Sometimes it kills me, slays me, debilitates me to put food on the table and love on the plate.
I would rather smash all of the plates, especially the pretty ones.
Watch them as they crash and bash down on the floorboards, then chop up an eggplant and sip my wine.
Oh how I wish I was as good as some, pure as gold.
That I didn’t vent everything out of my head about this person and that; and what she said and what he did to me with every chance I get.
I wish I would just smile and say that she is so lovely and he is so kind and has lovely eyes and leave it at that.
No tit for tat.
No pulling it all out of my head into the world like a desperate clown grabbing a hanky from his pocket and it just keeps coming and coming and coming.
I wish I could get away with all the things that I imagine I do.
Like when I put on a hat. People would say “oooh you are SO a hat person, it suits you, it becomes you, how lovely you are”.
I wish I could think to myself, yes you are so lovely. Clever you.
“Thank you I will take 3”.
Why can’t I be the girl running past so angular and tall, as I walk…whipping my ponytail this way and that as I glide past, bouncing and breathing and aching and winning.
Instead I am grumbling and cloudy and angry and I want to trip her as she drifts past in a puff of perfume and sweat. Smiling as she stumbles and face plants the mud. Fist pumping the air as I step over her and start running.
Sometimes I tell people I love them and want to see more of them – but secretly I don’t.
Sometimes I wish everyone would just go away.
I wish I could be better.. nicer inside. Goal oriented. Like a honey bee buzzing from one task to the next.
When I pick up my love’s shoes…why is it sometimes that instead of handing them to him, I want to hurl them at him yelling and screaming about everything that is wrong in the world and it’s because of people like him who can’t put their shoes away. Laces and heels flying through the air.
People tell me I am beautiful inside and out. That is nice of them isn’t it. But I am not.
I hope they don’t figure it out. I can sometimes scheme and scream and stamp and pout, shaking everything about.
Cake or chocolate ..or French toast drunk on sticky syrup – up to its eyeballs in frenchy goodness under a Sunday umbrella. I really wish I didn’t want to dive head first in it all and leave all my cloudy troubles behind. Rubbing the syrup from one spot to the next in gooey ooey rapture. I never do of course – appearances. What would people say..what would people think of me.
Bad things – because that’s what they do, they judge.
I know this because sometimes I hold the gavel and I point it around at everyone in my view.
Most of all, sometimes…I wish when I cut in half a piece of watermelon, or pour 2 pretty pastel, thick and cold banana smoothies – that I didn’t secretly always take the better, bigger half.
Not always though.
Sometimes I am just me, beautiful on the inside and apparently the out.
For at least another 28 days anyway..