Restless, by Teresa Koro

I’m tired of tongues that are contained within their cages, hearts that lock themselves within cavernous chests to avoid being cheated on. I’m tired of simplicity – give me extravagance in the broadest of terms - ukelele solos at midnight to woo a girl from her bed, bright colors and textures and tones all worn at once, a laugh that is reminiscent of a hyena or other preying animal. Give me smudged makeup and wrinkled dresses and wine in goblets that shine like crystals. Give me dandelions in my hair and raindrops on my cheeks and the sheer danger of sleeping in a field while a cloud unleashes its contents upon my skin. Give me stolen time to lay upon the hood of my car, admiring the quiet air for what it is, blue skies swaddling me in warmth. I’m tired of the monotonous penitence of waking the same morning at the same time in the same bed about to live the same life that I did yesterday. I want to walk out of my doors in nothing but a sheet. I want to walk out of my doors and keep walking until my legs, burning, tell me that I have found some place I have yet to discover. I want to walk out of my doors and become whoever I want to be instead of being plagued by this past, this tongue, this mind that is changing – my surroundings aren’t changing with me, and I am impatient. I embrace change and all it holds, yet I cannot seem to wait for it to overcome me. I am on fire with potential, yet I am taking up residence in this place that contains no nourishment for my flames. I am fire living in an ocean of interminable width. I am fire, and there is no dry grass for me to lick at greedily, no forests or lush green grass to warm with myself. There is only water, water everywhere, attempting to put out my spirit. Attempting to tell me that this is all that the world will ever be, and I should just give up now.