I am supposed to be—
to be free.

But we can’t all get what we want.

I am supposed to be beautiful—
to be beautiful as a dove—
innocent and adored by men for miles.

But we all must age at some point.

I am supposed to be happy—
to be happy as the light air that gently hits my face—

that hits my face to remind me I don’t have what it takes to be happy.

I am supposed to be—
to be free.

To be free as the butterflies that rush towards the sun and the tempting urge to fall off the cliff as I lean over and the gasping air that fills my lungs to tell me—

I am alive.

I never listen.
I’m too busy complaining.

I run and run and run for peace
and I scream and scream for air
as I smash for my broken life at twenty.

I am supposed to be—
to be what?
I don’t know.

I was never told.

Megan Schnese is pursuing a Baccalaureate of English.