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Wishful Thinking

I wish I had balls the size of grapefruits. So that when I think a guy is cute, I’d have the courage to do the simple task of smiling at him or saying “Hi.” Shit, even oranges would do. So that when someone asks a question in a crowded room, and I have the answer, I’m not afraid to say it.

I wish I could JUST NOT GIVE A FUCK. About anything. Or anyone. About haters or admirers. About polar bears being an endangered species, the homeless dude down the street, or the fact that we have this new “green” recycling program at work and people are too fucking lazy to abide by it.

I wish I had an ice-box where my heart used to be. And I’m not talking about some below zero facade that easily melts when the truth comes out. Not some thin sheet of ice you can see right through. I’m talkin a brick of ice thick enough to build an igloo with. Cold. Black. Heartless even. Maybe.

I wish … I could be … what some people would call … a slut. I wish I could have sex with beautiful men without having to feel for them emotionally. I’d get laid more. A lot more. And hurt less. A lot less. I wish I could be the perfect booty-call. Or at the very least, have a successful one night stand.

I wish I was taller. Had perfect skin. Curly hair. Dimples. Lighter eyes. A bigger ass. A flatter stomach. Existing hips. And at the very least, be a full B-cup.

There plenty of things I wish I could be. But then when I think about it … if I were all these things, then I guess I wouldn’t be ME. And as imperfect as I am, I kinda like me. If I were all these things, then I guess I’d be someone else. And as imperfect as I am, I’d never want to be anyone else. So never try to be something or someone that you aren’t. Just wish to be the best version of you, that you can be.

Actually, fuck a wish. JUST BE.

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