I used to dream about myself as a whirlwind, moving millions of miles a minute and leaving a path of destruction behind that no one was prepared for, 

Mostly because all too often I felt less like someone with the power to destroy and more like the aftermath, 

What had been destroyed

Pining away for men who stepped on the grass despite the sidewalk right next to it, 

Because we’re all desperate to prove that there is a fearlessness inside, fighting the urge to ruin the things beneath us. 

Men who built empires inside of me, and walked away when they grew bored navigating familiar streets, 

Leaving me to crumble. 

So I’m dreaming of myself as the wind that pushed back on my face when I was flying down freeways with the windows open in the dead of winter, 

How the rain began to pour and still I drove on despite the backlash of drops on my face. 

Some men remind me of the way we’re taught to throw spilled salt over our shoulders as a precaution, 

That tilt of the face and the downward glance and I’m fighting an incurable need to find a few kosher grains to throw anywhere because deep down I know that 

You’re bad luck and I’ll only end up worse. 

So I’m dreaming of myself as chaos, as a goddess with fire at her fingertips, 

And now seems as good a time as ever to burn it all down. 

All that salt I threw over my shoulder in feeble attempts to avoid you left the land lonely like me, 

And we could all use a fresh start, even if it’s coming from ashes. 

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