that’s not what i came for

don’t call me a goddess, that’s not what i came for

and that’s not what I am,

but on my shoulder was her delicate hand, and she said:

keep practicing, sweet georgie, and the day will come when

you’ll transcend the suffering,

you’ll reach enlightenment and everything will sparkle,

you’ll be awakened.

i raised an eyebrow and got, the hell,

out of there.                     quick.

she leaned her head out of the upstairs window,

you’re a goddess! she yelled down to me.

but her voice was so small, drowned out by the Jane’s Addiction

in my headphones.

i smiled, and waved, but wanted to laugh, and scream:

don’t call me a goddess, that’s not what I came for

and that’s not what I am,

you can keep your enlightenment

i never wanted                           it

and as for transcendence,

like some kind of vengeance

you can keep that too,    because i like my humanness

and i don’t wanna transcend        jack shit.

that’s not what i came for.

that’s not what i am.

why would i want to give up

pass up

look over

rise above

and not know my darkness?

that’s not what i’m here for,

give me all of my suffering, don’t take it away or suggest

that it needs to be made into less,

undeserving of the weeks it will make me forget the fact that

i love

myself

and everyone

else

it’s mine, back up,

nothing has ever felt so mine,

and you can

keep your spiritual awakening, all i want is to be

blood and bones with

a human heart can stretch, shatter,

that I can leave where I please, in someone’s bed or in the salty sea,

that I can give away,       rip off into pieces like a warm baguette

soft and streaming,

that, yes! that’s what i’m here for,

so I can

kiss your throat and feel you swallow

under my lips

burn the roof of my mouth on pizza

still bubbling with chemistry changed,

i’m here for the skinned knees and nights without sleep,

riding a bike through foreign city streets

and to know what it’s like to say the wrong thing and lose–

lose it all, card games and lovers, i never want to get good at losing

the sting is what i came for.

i came for the face in the back window of a car that’s leaving forever,

his eyes like green and gold paint bleeding into each other,

that, definitely that,

or okay fine, just share a beer with me, that’s what i came for

and

i want to have to pray,

because that’s what i came for,

give me wrinkles and a mind that can learn, forget, digress, and

give me scars on the backs of my hands,                cavities,

and sunburns that turn into tans,

but don’t call me a goddess, that’s not what I came for and

that’s not

what I am.

To make a donation to Georgie’s writing, click here. All donations are very appreciated.

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