if only desire were enough

i've seen the way a heart irreparably shatters when a mother buries her child -- the smiles that aren't as bright, the face with permanent loss etched into her skin, and the steps that are lighter, as to not disturb her baby in the ground. so why do i still want to become a good mother's worst nightmare? 

an empty seat in the classroom,

a person missing in the photo.

i've felt the weight of loss that demands acknowledgement, the deafening silence of person leaving this world and on to the next. so why do i still want to leave someone else to pack the remnants of my short, tragic life. why do i get to become that void and leave everyone else to clean up my messes once again?

i've heard the howls of mourning in the night. a sound so raw, it's inhuman. so why do i still want my mother to scream as she loses her second-born and only daughter? why do i still want to become that pain?

i don't want to become a tragedy, an honors student and girl scout's short time on this earth, a new part of a pitiful discussion about depression and suicide. i don't want to be a symbol of my parent's failures in rearing me or a cautionary tale. most of all, i'd hate to become the chip on my big brother's shoulder.

i know what it feels like to lose someone and bury a piece of yourself 6-feet under too.

i don't want to die, but i don't necessarily want to live either. 

i'd much rather crumble and dissipate into the wind and become that whistling noise that the wind makes when it blows.

i'd much rather quickly evaporate like water on pavement during the summer.

i'd much rather be a dragonfly skidding by on a pool in july.

there are so many small, inconsequential things i'd much rather become, and yet i remain me.

if only desire were enough.

Author's Note

ignore grammar problems, this is more of a brain dump than anything else.