PROSE

YOUTH

by Nicola Dunsbee

3rd May 2020

Illustration by Himarni Brownsword

I am raucous and rebellious and want to revel in being young like a pig rolling in shit.  I don’t want to be quietly content; I want my happiness to be obnoxious and acid yellow.  I want to get drunk and hug a toilet bowl like a long-lost friend.  I want to clamber hungrily into sex.  I want to pick up stones on the beach and throw them as far as I can and, splash in the shallow with my clothes on.  I want to love so big.  I want to overwork and I want to do nothing.  I want to be unsatisfied and fling myself at more, those four letters that hold the world inside of them, the O cradling promise like a soft baby.  I want to go out without a coat on and shiver on the kerb waiting for a lift home.  I want to run up to people and jump at them like a dog.  I want my hugs to be huge and warm.  I want to want, toddler-esque, ‘why?’ in their mouths .  I want to run for no reason.  I want to shake the floorboards with my dancing.  I want to look in the mirror and think I’m hot.  I want to rally behind manifestos and be filled with hope, and feel radical by being alive.  I want to smoke badly-rolled roll-ups.  I want to write poems about all the men who’ll write poems about me.  I want to get fucking angry and shake with power, trembling at my body’s limits, feeling a red so massive that my head hurts.  I want to be young.

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