Desired Infection

Entrapment in the life that binds me

Becomes the sentiment that defines me

And the desperation of the traditional, conventional

And everyday intentional

Conformity to a life

That bores me to tears. I am a good daughter and a good wife,

But then I think of all the years to come

And I cringe at the thought of this numb,

Comfortable existence

And my soul screams resistance.

Even the marrow in my bones cries

Out for some wrongness. My brain tries

To tell me that this life is healthy perfection.

And yet I crave infection.

The woman in me desires

To do something purposely wicked. I perspire

With the violent need to do things that are simply not me

But that prove that I still have the capability

To find out whom I have the potential to be. I want to, just because I can.

Maybe it’s not a good reason to be the type of woman

That steps in the fire just to feel

Her blood boil and cuts herself just to make sure she’s still real

And alive. I don’t want to complacently exist

In this mediocre world. I commit to resist

Expectations

And give in to temptations.

The seductive beauty of human mistakes

Are whispered in my ears and I don’t want to shake

The little devil on my shoulder. I don’t want to be ordinarily happy or sad.

I endeavor to be uncommonly bad.

It is not enough to be alive.

I want to thrive.