I wanted my childhood.
A stone home with concrete floors and
mosquito screens and red tile roofs and
I wanted to hear two languages and walk through familiar enough doors and
drive down familiar enough dirt roads and
I wanted to be done with those who I knew and
go far enough but stay close enough and
be by myself enough to prove I never needed anything but
That tenacity mom said I had.
I want my future.
I now have a creaky wooden blue house and
scratched hardwood and peeling veneer flooring and
a damp, moldy cellar filled with the landlord’s hoarding habits and
I have a car that beeps every five seconds and
I don’t have $1500 worth of repairs so I drive and
apologize for the noise when I have a passenger and
play Greta Van Fleet too loud for this placid farm town and
at least my friends think it’s funny and “not too bad” and
also, they’re coming to my wedding.
I want my own.
I think I want a one-bedroom apartment with you and
to never pursue the degree I have spent four years on and
learn Italian since that’s what you think in and
start writing more what comes into my mind and
less about what other people have already said and
learn how to make pasta from eggs and flour and
rescue an old dog from the shelter and
get another degree in psychology because
I think I know what I need now.
Faith Simpson is currently a senior in university who uses writing as a creative outlet to escape the dreariness of her (current) Midwest home. She draws much of her inspiration from her childhood experiences from Kenya, East Africa and the Northeast of the US. She is currently pursuing her bachelors in English Education and afterwards, will be pursuing her graduate degree in Clinical Psychology.