If

IF

I would have been
a first soprano, a poet or a dancer,
If an inquisitive hand had tapped upon my shoulder.
I would have been a pastry chef, a comedian, a teacher,
If just once you’d read a story for me and not for you.
If only you’d looked directly into the dim world of my iris’
And smiled the light I craved, longingly;
I would’ve heard the language of hope….
Even muted, or muttered in a foreign dialect,
I craved knowing my ears were as powerful as my heart
If arteries like arms could reach out and suck life in,
I would have invited you again, and again and again and again,
Into my blood, where I felt so alive it hurt.
I was all those things, every second, every day
Pumping and firing, with empty meaning like unfulfilled promises,
I am all those things, an A student, an accomplished musician,
A novelist, a nurse, a perfect soul,
You’d know this if you’d asked what I wanted to be when I grew up,
Or if I wanted to grow up at all.

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