All I want is dirt under my nails, wood chips in my hair…on my floor, by the fire, in my bed.
Showers of salt in the ocean for days on end.
No shoes, nothing that doesn’t let my spirit breathe.
To wake up and press my face against the stars,
Ask the moon how her day was.
Greet the sun with the kind of kisses she deserves.
I want the measurement of my worth to not fit into a box, to be in how wildly I laugh, how gently I hold, how quietly I listen.
I want to make your spirit dance when we’re standing still.
I want someone who cares less about the shoes I wear or if my clothes even match, and more about the way my soul looks while I write in a frenzy covered in ink.
I want to shout my outrageous truth from the rooftops.
Be amazingly, deliciously, insanely who I am.
I want less structure and more living, more sporadic soul frolics.
Movies and dinners are for lovers who lack magic.
Come, take my hand, let’s leave this world in our dust.