Malik
Do not fret. I cannot love. But I have recently discovered what it means to want. I know what it is like to crave and to desperately desire but to simply want. Want his presence. Want his attention. His response. His smile. I want. He wants me. Wants my eyes. Wants my laugh. My touch. My affection. He wants. I've told him my biggest problem: boys, they disappoint; and he pushes me gently, not like it isn't important but like I can do it. He pushes me until I can stand completely. He touches my thigh like there's more to me than my scars as if to tell me: yes, it hurts but there's hope and I believe you can do it. God, I want to kiss him gently and know what it's like to be wanted and be okay with it. For once, I am not repulsed or scared; I am so very damn sure and he makes me feel like I am worth the time it takes to get to know me. I do not apologize for weirdness or any flaws because I just know -- I just fucking know -- that he wants me, too, and in all the perfection that I come in now. And I think that's all I've ever wanted.
YOU ARE READING
How I Love You
Poetry". . . . Then must you speak / Of one that lov'd not wisely but too well; / Of one not easily jealous, but being wrought, / Perplex'd in the extreme. . . ." -Act 5, Scene 2 of Othello by W. Shakespeare A collection of poems to the boys and men I hav...
