Permission

What if I had permission? 

To do it all.

To do whatever I wanted?

To be whoever I wanted.

I would be sexy as fuck.

I would formulate a concoction to get 8 hours of sleep in 4. 

I’d hypnotize and mesmerize all my favorites to want to hang out with me.

Lin-Maunel and Phoebe Wall-ey and Aaron Sork-y and Lena Waithe-y. And they’d think I was cool and I’d learn from them and I’d hang on for dear life and I’d find my voice. And they’d say, “Hell yeah, you have a voice, I hear it right here and right here and right here, NOW GO!” 

I’d eat all the deliciousness.

I’d lock myself away in a mansion and make all the things. 

I’d have unlimited energy and stamina and drive.

If I had permission I’d say, “Hello. I am here. I see you. Thank you. I’m okay. You’re okay. Let’s do this.”

I’d be the weirdo I’d want to be and like it. 

I’d sing Broadway songs till I sounded good singing them. 

I’d devote myself to something so hardily with such abandon that I’d never abandon my heart again.

I’d imagine I’m great and capable and generative and generous and supported and funded. 

And would be, too.

I’d think that all the feelings are just feelings, and my drive would be more powerful. 

If I had permission. 

Which turns out, 

I do.

-Lynn