Thinking about writing.

I want to be strange.

henna tattoo, body art, hand with henna tattoo

I want to be a strange person.
Have blue hair. Or pink. Or maroon. Or turquoise.
I want my youth back. And my figure.
I want to take that strange person that I have always been inside
and
be
her.

I want to be a strange person
who dresses in black except for turquoise jewelry and bright coats.
I want to be so skinny that people tell me I need to eat
but I just sit there, smoking a cigarette.
Looking at the tattoo of something strange on the back of my wrist
not thinking about how good pizza is but thinking about how good that
strange poem
I wrote at midnight
while I was stoned
was.

I want to not care
about shower gel or if my armpits are hairy or
If they smell.
Or if my car is clean and the oil is changed
or my mortgage is paid.

I want to be brave and not care about what people think
and just be the strange person I have always been on the inside
on the outside.
So people will know how strange I am
and judge me
and I can just smoke a cigarette
and think about my poems
and not care.

The opportunity for me to be strange has passed
and the years I could have been myself
were spent trying to fit in and
look normal
and be normal
and not make people uncomfortable.

But still, I see that strange girl wiping tables in the coffee shop
blue hair
smelling of sweat and cigarette smoke
skinny and young, with her whole strange life in front of her
and I just want to
be
her.

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