I’ve learned to fear wanting too many things.
The selfishness I’ve harboured as a child has melted from a stain to just a bruise.
The phrase “I want” used to spill from my mouth like blood from a wound
The world could see.
Now its kept deep in my skin and only visible if you look for it.
I can apply ice to freeze desire in its tracks.
For lack of better words, I’ve woven my wants in between my veins-
Slid it somewhere in between the sixth and seventh layer of my skin.
They are receding into the warmth of my lungs,
The soft flesh being coddled by my ribs-
That hand-like cage surrounding my vitals like a gated neighborhood.
All my frail and jaded desires live there now.
The selfishness I paraded as a kid
Began to line my liver like an illness.
So, despite the worry, I’ll say this-
I think I want you.
Don’t guilt me for wanting what I do not need.
This isn’t about you,