At times I become a soap bubble

A thin film swelled round with purpose

With need

 

I develop a sort of intellectual wanderlust

An itch under my skin

 

I want to read and knit and beat my wings

Want to scream and laugh hysterically

Want to sketch out battle lines and blueprints

In impressionist scratchboard

Want to sharpen my teeth on bone and wet them with blood

Want to paint and sculpt

And flex my soul on the gymnast rings

Want to fly, want to dive

Want to drown to watch the way the bubbles form

Then die again in fire for the experience

Want to stretch out my thoughts

Until tendrils of thought touch half the continent

Want to be so caught up in sensations

That there isn’t room left in my head for a single thought

 

Want to do it all at once

Regardless of the risk of my mind flying free

Or shredding with the stretch

Uncaring at risk of incipient insanity

 

So I do none of it

And sit in silence

 

Until at last the soap skim pops

And I am only me once more