Dreams: Giving Up the Good Girl

I’m linking up to Stream of Consciousness Sunday hosted by Jana at Jana’s Thinking Place. This week’s prompt is dreams. Mine doesn’t make sense, but I guess that’s part of SOC’s charm—it doesn’t have to make sense. I also cheated and took more than five minutes.

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I dream of never holding back. I dream of being reckless and bold and talking back. I dream of not being told what to do. I dream of giving up the good girl.

I dream of taking control and not letting others always gain the upper hand. I dream of the day when I don’t fall or lose faith in myself, my beliefs. I dream that you have no power over me. I dream that I know the truth. I dream that I know what really happened. I dream that can’t be taken away from me.

I dream of eating guacamole with blue corn chips all day long and a giant margarita to wash it down with.

I dream of watching a cigarette’s tip glow. A glass of wine and a notebook, black ink all over the middle finger of my right hand. In the middle of the night, alone. Just me and silence and ashes on a dirty plate in the kitchen sink.

I dream of you and me and soul mates. And matching games and finding pairs and starting over again and again. I dream that I’m someone else for a few minutes. I dream that time is a gift only I can grant myself.

I dream of slumber parties and donuts and telling secrets. I dream of a gaggle of girlfriends and staying up all night whispering and playing truth or dare.

I dream of a place where I can say whatever I want about whatever I choose. I dream of a place where there is no censorship. I dream of letting kids be kids and not forcing them into a mold. I dream that it doesn’t matter what other people think. I dream that who we are is more important than where we live, what color we are, where (or if) we went to school, and what our jobs are. I dream that even smart people can be stupid.

I dream of my destiny. Of making a platform for myself. I stand on it; it’s built of old notebooks, my favorite novels, my best friends, memories, conversations, my family, love, strength, smiles, tears and laughter. Bits of my childhood self glued to the woman I am now.

I dream that I don’t have to know the exact destination in order to find it. I dream that I can trust myself to get there. I dream that I’m someone worth knowing. I dream that I’m someone worth loving.

I dream that you love me. I dream that you see me. I dream that we see each other. I dream that we have unlimited potential.

I dream that we all make mistakes. I dream that we’re all forgiven.

I dream that I have a soul full of ladybugs. I dream of the night standing in your backyard with sunflowers towering over me. You wrestled one up from its root and hurled it over the fence. Such beauty wasted.

I dream of a note written on folded paper that landed on my desk. I dream of a night in a treehouse with a little tv and a lot of hormones. I dream of too many screwdrivers and vomiting and sleeping with one foot on the floor. I dream the best dreams and wake up sad to find they’re not real.

I dream that I dreamed you. I dream of chubby baby legs with feet that can’t be squished into perfect pink baby loafers. I dream of exquisite pigtails and two little bottom teeth. Your hands yanking my hair. Your squeals of delight, I dream of your face buried in my neck and your sweet baby sighs.

I dream that someday, all alone, I will stand atop a mountain of crap I’ve climbed and I’ll be sweaty and dirty and exhausted but I will have done it.

Finally.