The smartest person I have ever met once told me that when you’re faced with writer’s block the best choice you’ve got is to just sit down and talk about all of the things you wish you could write about. For instance, I wish I could sit here and go on and on talking about how sad the end of marching band makes me or how scary life choices are. I wish I could write a decent paragraph about how you’re an ignorant cockbag if you don’t think same-sex marriage should be legalized. I wish I could finish a decent sentence. I wish I could write about how on a number line you want a filled in dot if you include the number and a circle when that precise number is not included. I wish I could write out the way I feel about waking up in the morning or facing tomorrow or looking at my watch. I wish I could write about how I feel about not being able to write about the reason I can’t make good words come out in the first place. I wish I could paint stars on my ceiling. I wish I could write more than a sentence and find it worth telling someone about. I wish I could write about how much less I would hate people if all the time was one on one time. I wish I had the balls to be honest. I wish I had a Y chromosome and a tattoo of a radioactive dinosaur. I wish I could write about how I want to be at home and how I’m not safe here. I wish I could somehow express with words how I don’t feel safe anywhere. I wish I could do stupid shit and not face consequences. I wish I could reach great heights without lifting my arm. I wish it was easier to get up to the top of the lockers in the orchestra room. I wish I still had orchestra. I wish I had my old laptop back where I could go back and re-read commentary on pleasant times. I wish I could write about what you are doing write now. I wish I could have incredible insight on why other people do the things they do, yet be completely oblivious to myself. I wish I could stop being carbon paper copies of all of the doodles other people care to put out on the world. I wish I had the personal strength to outrightly ignore all of the ways people tell me I should act and speak and walk and feel and breathe. I wish I could breathe. I wish that I could write all of these things in one massive, bloody and disgusting paragraph and have some bored soul waste minutes reading it and understanding absolutely nothing. I wish “love” was a stronger word, or somehow taken more seriously. I wish I could write about breaking down walls around me and finding that the contractor’s name on the cornerstone is my own. I wish that I could write.
