Breathe

I can’t breathe. That’s the last thing I would have wanted at this point of the conclusion of things. Who am I kidding; things have been concluded for a hot minute. But I can't help but to feel as if I am being smothered as time continues. I’m trying to work around my mind-set of being inadequate. I loose my breath when I think of how I may be another page in history, just a girl, just another girl. No, I’m not a girl with a foreign name who is too plain. Yes, my name is Danielle, but I’m not from Northern Cali, I have two makeup artists, a great hairdresser, and I own a Maxi-glide; not to mention new skin was given to me this summer. I refuse to be on the same list. I loose my wind when someone walks right through me. Awkward or not, I am not the plague, I am not the one to scamper away from, please respect me. The only pestilence that’s in the air is the one of a little bit of pride and a whole lot shame with a touch of disrepute. That’s a reason not to breathe.

I hyperventilate a little every now and again; little gasps of air that sting a little. The path is clear to follow through. I stood too long in the way of the door apparently, but I have stepped aside and tried to give up on it.

Joy. Certain types of joy can make you sick; if it’s too sweet, too perfect, and too fresh. Because if that joy were to ever change, it’s like clamping an air supply; things may not die, but it definitely won’t be as fresh. Stale. I don’t want to be stale. But nevertheless, it’s hard to breathe. I understand the meaning of the phrase “Waiting to Exhale” - maybe I’ll get to one day.