I would like to have my life organized and all my writings in alphabetical order in a black binder. The bills organized, my clothes organized. Everything filed, so I know where everything is, including my son and daughter. I would like to have my past written down, decided on, not some stupid swirling lava lamp. I’d like my positions on everything clarified, my thoughts organized. And my hands. I wish they didn’t end in hangnails and peeling, thin layers. I wish my hands came to polished oval conclusions and that my feet weren’t rough on the bottom.
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