And so a new dream emerges.
It is quieter and (arguably) smaller and I will not give full voice to it just yet, lest the fairies be listening. The dream is still unspoken, but The Dream, always, has been the same:
(or: my disney hero i want song)
I want to show up in the mornings. I want to smile and help and earn my means to drink too much iced coffee, feed my cat, and visit Disney World twice a year.
Then I want to go Home. Home to my blue room, home to my sweet orange kitty, home to my queer body. Home to where I write and publish and scheme and eat sloppily constructed 10 pm quesadillas atop my pillows.
I want to be a playwright and so I shall be. I am a playwright because I write plays and not because someone older has deigned me worthy of doing so.
I want to revel in my queerness. I want to make of myself a garden: colors and explosions and friendly amphibians lurking in the pond. Maybe this is the second puberty talking, but I want to keep dying my hair and get tattoos and dress like 70’s Elton John and be loud and laugh too hard and squeeze your hand too tight.
I want to want without forgetting what I already have, without diminishing the sparkle of where I have already been. I am Dani Fucking Herd, I write plays and I feed turtles. I speak Shakespeare and I write Good Omens fanfiction. I quote Walt Whitman and I cry at just the thought of whales. If you don’t keep an eye on me, I will eat all the popcorn before the movie has started.
Being trans does not mean I am lonely. Being bipolar does not mean I am broken.
“luminous beings are we.”
And so I am. And so are you.