I wish…

• my back didn’t hurt;
• my heart didn’t hurt;
• I weren’t so cold all the time (and I don’t mean just physically);
• I weren’t so scared to let other people in;
• I had more ambition;
• I felt as talented as people say I am;
• I didn’t have to feel embarrassed about being smart;
• I hadn’t skipped a grade (or rather, that I didn’t have to feel so uncomfortable about the fact that I skipped a grade);
• people wouldn’t give me such weird looks when I say I’m home schooled;
• people wouldn’t ask me what highschool I go to (who. gives. a. rip.);
• people wouldn’t ask me what I want to be when I grow up;
• people wouldn’t make me feel like I don’t have a shot at it, when I do tell them what I want to be;
• I were genuinely interested in politics;
• people wouldn’t make me feel inferior because I’m not interested in politics;
• people wouldn’t automatically assume that because you like to/are good at writing, you must like reading (or visa versa);
• I could make small talk;
• I weren’t so forgettable;
• I weren’t so angry;
• I weren’t so scared;
• I didn’t want to cry all the time;
• I could fly into a blind rage, demolish a room, and then throw myself into the arms of someone who actually understood me, and just sob my heart out;
• my dad had actually been interested in me as a person, and not just as a weapon;
• I had had a real “daddy” as a child;
• I had a different dad … I really wish I had a different dad;
• I weren’t so certain that it’s never just one thing … because then I could blame everything on my dad.