Ouch, it's too tired to be tired.

I'd go to college out of state but my shoulder is asleep under my little sisters head and I don't want to wake her.
It tingles.
The tingles keep me from sleep on purpose, I think.
I think, they want me to think.
To think of numbers and hair and gifts.
Gifts I've been given and things I want.
Beanie Babies, life, books and sex.
I've been taught sex is a gift but please tell Santa I'd rather have a new camera.
I want a new camera and I want the future.
I'm not ready for sex.
I want the future right now and I want asparagus, burnt asparagus.
I want poetry hips.
The kind of hips that look good in the jeans that say, "hey, she can write."
I want people to realize she is fake and a little too much like everyone else.
But she's better at it.
She looks better in my personality than I do, so I give her unneeded permission to display it.
She has the hips for it.
I want to speak Arabic, but only for the time being.
I want a tragedy thrust upon Mitt Romney, so he too can drop out.
Please don't agree with that, it's sick.
I want your innocence preserved.
I want to sleep right now so I stop nourishing what I cannot have.
I need to put down my phone and stop reading about Cordelia Botkins human cakes.
I need to stop enjoying reading it.
I need to stop enjoying my envy.
But I'll agree with her, I can't stop.
It tastes too good.
My sister just woke up, but the tingling won't stop.
In state college it is.