Lust
All my life I have struggled with Lust, hoping that from him I would gain what was lost. When I was 3, I anxiously waited by the kitchen set, desperately hoping that today he would choose me to be his “wife” for the day by offering the plastic bouquet of flowers on the table. When I was 6, I nervously stood in the gym hoping that today he would acknowledge my “love” for him by hearing the words in my throat. When I was 9, I longingly laid beside him hoping that today he would confess his “feelings” for me by placing his arms around my waist. I float and I am filled with pleasant dreams. I paint the darkness of my shut eyes with his image. I replace the spaces of my sentences with his name. I escape and I am consumed by my delusion. I trick myself into believing he could serve as a substitution for the role in my life left abandoned by my father. I look to him to make me feel whole. I sink and I am sheltered in my dream. I let my mind be consumed by unrequited, unrestrained, unattainable dreams that only leave me facing an inevitable pit of sorrow, pity, and dreaded “what if’s”. I fall and I am suffocated by my nightmare. I am left devoured by my demons, alone in my room, wondering why I do this to myself, praying to God to send me someone, promising Him that this time I will be ready. But still… I’m not. And I don’t know when I’ll ever be.
