I Wish To Live For Myself. I

Centuries Of Fighting, And For What? I Say. "today It Ends. I Can't Live In Fear Any Longer. I've Cursed This Power. I've Both Enjoyed And Misused It. And I've Hidden It Away. Now I Must Try To Wield It Correctly, To Marry It To A Purpose And Hope That Is Enough.

On The Bowery, In The Ornate Carcass Of A Formerly Grand Vaudeville Theater, A Dance Marathon Limps Along. The Contestants, Young Girls And Their Fellas, Hold One Another Up, Determined To Make Their Mark, To Bite Back At The Dreams Sold To Them In Newspaper Advertisements And On The Radio. They Have Sores On Their Feet But Stars In Their Eyes.

There's No Time To Be Modest. Reason Will Not Work Here. Without Warning, I Kiss Kartik. His Lips, Pressed Firmly Against Mine, Are A Surprise. They Are Warm, Light As Breath, Firm As The Give Of A Peach Against My Mouth. A Scent Like Scorched Cinnamon Hangs In The Air, But I'm Not Falling Into Any Vision. It's His Smell In Me. A Smell That Makes My Stomach Drop Through My Feet. A Smell That Pushes All Thought Out Of My Head And Replaces It With An Overpowering Hunger For More.

A Gentle Breeze Catches In The Branches Then And I Hear It, Soft And Low, A Murmured Prayer--gem-ma, Gem-ma--and Then The Leaves Bend Down And Trail Delicate Fingers Across My Cold Cheeks.

You’ve Been Assigned An Identity Since Birth. Then You Spend The Rest Of Your Life Walking Around In It To See If It Really Fits. You Try On All These Different Selves And Abandon Just As Many. But Really It’s About Dismantling All That False Armor, Getting Down To What’s Real. -going Bovine