e̶v̶e̶r̶y̶t̶h̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶i̶ ̶w̶a̶n̶t̶e̶d̶ ̶t̶h̶i̶s̶ ̶y̶e̶a̶r̶

Greta Schledorn

sometimes i want to fuck the men outside the deli who catcall me. sometimes i want them all to die. there’s a car alarm going off outside and i want to kill myself. i want a husband and a nice house. i want to be going nowhere. i want out. i want drama. maybe i don’t want to fix anything. i want to let go of that fantasy of loving a man forever. it’s a doomed thing to want and an impossible thing to control. i want to be a mother more than i want to have a man. i hate how much i want a man to love me. i want to feel like myself no matter what. i want a real life. i love men and i want to be in love. i’ll never get what I want from a man. i want to evaporate, to turn into water and then air. why would i want someone who sees me that way? i want someone who wants to take care of my feelings. he said i’m the smartest girl he’s ever fucked, like that’s what every girl wants to hear. wanting to write but not writing. wanting to love but not loving. i wanted my mother to patch me up but i patched her up instead. i wanted to know how he became himself. i wanted to hide. i don’t want to give up on everything. i want to be dumb and pretty and let a man take care of me. there’s a dog barking and i want him to shut up. sometimes i think i want it too much. the thing is i don’t want revenge. i just want to never see him again. who do i want approval from? i want to become more narcissistic. i cannot lay around all day punishing myself and then go out and do coke and drink all night and lose sight of what i want and who i am. i don’t want to write and i don’t want to keep trying. when what i really want is love. i don’t want to be here anymore. i want to feel normal. i’m awake and i don’t want to be. i don’t want to keep going. of course it’s jealousy on my end, my own inability to love someone who has something i want. i don’t just want someone to love me, i want someone who will improve my work. i just want to lay around and daydream about boys. i keep doing all of this shit that i don’t want to do. i want to pull my teeth out. i want to implode. i want to stop thinking about myself all the time. i want to be someone new. i want my art to be better. he makes me want to be tougher, to have thicker skin. i want to be reckless and make bad decisions. i want his cock inside of me forever. i don’t want anything and i don’t want to eat. i don’t want to look at my phone anymore. i hate new york and i want to leave. and i want to die. and i want every man i’ve ever slept with to walk into traffic. i want a job that pays me a lot of money. i want to only buy things that i love, things i want to touch. it’s not because i don’t want to do anything. i don’t want to do anything. i want to drive to some remote location and throw my phone away and live off the land. but then i don’t want to live without love island. i don’t want to live without the real housewives or the girls who show me how to do my makeup or the esoteric meme girls who post pictures of horses and berries and words. i don’t want their validation anymore. i say i want love but maybe i don’t. maybe i just want someone to hold me while i fall asleep and stroke my hair and then leave me alone. maybe i just want to be understood. i want to be understood and left alone. maybe i don’t want to feel good. i don’t want to spend the rest of my life trying to get out of something. i don’t want to go. i don’t want to do this anymore. i don’t want to write any of this anymore. i don’t want to fight. i don’t want to keep trying. i want to lie down. this is what i wanted. i’ve only ever wanted to survive. i want to go home. i want to tell my mother about the cats outside my apartment that we rescued. but i don’t want to tell my mother anything. i keep thinking about control and why i want it to have it and why i want to lose it. what i want is to be a beautiful woman with money. i want to get really ugly. i want lip fillers. i want to be someone entirely different from who i am. i want to stare at the ocean without blinking. i want to watch a wave after a wave after a wave. i want to be at peace. i didn’t shower when i got home because i wanted to sleep with his scent still on my skin. i wanted to sleep beside him but he didn’t want me to. but i want it that way — the pain first and then the pleasure. i wanted an answer and there isn’t one. it’s too late to live the life i want to live. i want passion. what do i want to pay attention to? i want someone who won’t let me fade away. i don’t want to be trapped. i want to go off birth control. i want him to cum in me. i don’t want clout or money or even love. i want to reach something that feels buried. i want to fuck a married man. i want to fuck someone who has no idea what i’m talking about. i want to be meaner. we can’t accept who we are and we can’t admit what we want. i want cocaine. i want new thoughts. i want my thoughts to stop. i want to feel the weight of a man on my body. i wanted to be who he wanted. i just wanted to get out of florida and to make some money. i want to fuck someone i trust enough to take control. i want to fall apart completely. i want to get in a car and drive off a cliff. i still just want to go to sleep. i want to go off on him but i know i won’t. i want to be vulnerable with him. i want to feel his hands on my throat. i want to give in. i wanted everyone to come. i want to be held/fucked. maybe i don’t want love or even understanding. i want to start sobbing and never stop. i want to be open. i’m not sure why i’m doing this or what i want. i want a man who makes me want to be sweet. they all make me want to be mean. i want to believe love is real or that it does something. what do i want? what have i always wanted? i wanted to have a life that felt like mine.

Greta Schledorn is a writer from Florida living in New York. Her work has been published in Hobart, Expat and Southwest Review, among others.

@gretaschle