Sometimes...

I am not sure if I am coming or going.  I feel like I would have forgotten my ass had it not been attached.  I want to be 4 or 8 years old.  I want to cry when I want something, or like, when I decide to not wear dresses anymore or I hate everything that is pink: even though I insisted that I wanted to look like a walking Pepto Bismol-toddler, I want it to be accepted as reasonable.  I want simplicity.  I want to cry, just because I can.