I don’t know about you,
but when I was a little girl,
I was told that,
at 11:11 PM,
you could make one wish.
and no matter how big or small,
foolish or plausible-the wish would come true.

it’s 11:11.
yawn.
who makes wishes anyway?

they don’t come true. they simple float
in our minds, in the stale air,
with absolutely
nowhere
to go.

and what would I wish for?
technically speaking, I’m happy.
I have friends, hobbies.
wishes should be for those who need them.
those on television commercials,
starving, hungry and desperate for a life
where they’re not living on the streets.
who’s granting their wishes?
they can’t afford clocks.
11:11 means nothing to them.

and how cliché would it be to wish for love?
the idea is laughable.
as if the perfect man is just sitting around,
content in waiting
for a girl like me to summon him in my dreams.
oh please.

if only I had a goal in life
(lawyer, doctor, politician).
if only I had the same worries as other teenage girls
(shopping, dating, CosmoGirl).
if only I were more like everybody else.
if only I believed in myself.

then perhaps I wouldn’t need 11:11
to make my wishes come true.