crying glitter and drinking stars

genie in a glazed lamp

as i child, i wished for stupid and imaginative things. if i got a genie lamp, what would i do? what would really any child do? it's okay that your wishes were shallow. children are typically shallow. we've been kept in light all our lives, hidden from the darkness and could take its hands and shatter our soul. i stepped on my father's wristwatch, and i suppose the crack is similar. the crunch of a human skull thrust against a cabinet door in anger.

i know that seven years ago, i would have been shallow. i would have wished for money and clothes and glamours plastic purses. my tables have turned and I'm no longer six years old. what even are my ambitions?

if i had a genie in a glazed lamp. a bronze antique, encrusted with gems and hand paints flowers and vines stenciled on. blue paint would stain my finger tips and charred incense flake in my nose. the taste of my father's cigarettes burnt into my tongue.

i would wish for happiness. discard my other two, someone else could take them. happiness in little forms. my wish is happiness. my wish is costco peaches will go on sale, a high mark on a test i really pushed myself for. happiness with my friends. gleaming icicle lights and writing in a dark bedroom alone. being here. sitting here, hearing the sound of my breath. i write these things because they bring me happiness.

maybe, in a dream, i have claimed a genie in a lamp. he has granted me happiness because here. here, look, it's me! here i am. here, right now, i'm incredibly alone. the cold air is the only thing i feel and it dances with my breath. my loneliness is shoved aside. i have ink and a keyboard, this is my lamp. i'm my own genie. if it's like this forever, i really wouldn't mind.