This is Not Lust

October 6, 2018

Sometimes I think about being brave and spontaneous and
sexy.
I think about going outside at midnight while the
man who lives down the hall is smoking, and asking him to
kiss me. I wonder if he would.

 

This isn’t
lust. Or if it is, it’s only
lust in part, and a small part. I think a good deal of it is the reverse of
lust. (What is the reverse of
lust?) I want to be wanted. (I’ve never been very wanted.)

 

While I labored over

seminar papers on Victorian writers my professors
said, “You thrive in a life of the
Mind.”
While I wrote lesson plans and

graded essays into the night

my professors
told me a
family would have to wait.

 

I am less lonely than ever
but more aware of my loneliness than ever
because it seems that This is the best that there is,
and I keep coming back to Jane Eyre because I want to
belong and to
be loved and to
be godly too,
and when did the means become the end?

 

I wonder if the man who lives down the hall would
kiss me.

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