Maybe I vented, just a little. Maybe I projected what wasn’t yours unto you.
You do not deserve to be so treated, I know. But I needed a scapegoat, you see… and I’m sorry, you were it.
Tired of living every moment in a spandex trunk from Krypton, why can’t I be the woman in the red trench coat and long silk gloves?
Why can’t I drape my cape, loosen the severe bun and allow my hair a kiss at the nape of my neck, spread my arms and have my world give me a hug, just because.
Being superwoman is not as rewarding as it looks. I just want to be a woman- a man, if you will. I want to be vulnerable, I want to let the hurt that I feel show in my hazel eyes.
I want to shed tears sometimes and not have it taken for some grand weakness.
I want respite from saving perilious babies (from burning buildings) and men from brewing brawls.
Tired of hunting down bad guys, I desire the love of a good one.
I want a breath of fresh air away from boardroom battles and social protocols observance.
I want to kick back and relax; let someone else be the hero for a while.
When the next whistle blows, I don’t want to be rearing to fly, but be one of the anonymous screaming fans in a booth at the playoffs.
I want to proudly stand behind the scene or stand with the applauding audience and let someone else shine in the spotlight.
I want to eat hotdogs at the street corner and not have it make the News.
I want to be pampered, I want to be rescued too.
Sometimes, I’m out of breath and I need help; sometimes I need the kiss of life too.
I do not detest the weight of my responsibilities, I just want to be appreciated for who I am and not merely for what I do.
I want vulnerable. And I want it with you.
I may have communicated that in a wrong way, forgive me, will you? It was a smothered cry for help.
I know you say you understand, but I also know you wish it didn’t happen. I wish I could swish my cape and make it go away, but I want you to know that I too, hurt.