This year I will try to move away from my comfort zone. I tend to talk about some really depressing stuff so this years theme is Love.
Yep, you heard right.
I am going to focus in love and all the gooy lovely dovey I will never have ness that comes with it. No more depressing Jessi (unless the story calls for it) I am a whole new person this month.
What this means is that I will be both reviewing books and writing poems dealing with this topic. Some of the romance books won’t be just pure romance (I need that meaty plot) but I try to make it so every book I read main focus is on romance with other stuff more background. So bring on those devine sweat producing, hand fanning, hallelujah singing romance novels. I got my tea, my blanket, and my unicorn plushy ( property-of-daughter–with-extreme-caution-from-momma)
I wanted her but I did not desire her. Maybe it was the way her head tilted when she smiled. Joy radiating from every pour just begging me to take hold. I used to dream about that smile and how it made me feel.
How It made me feel.
My heart racing with want for her. The need to take hold and possess her every being. I wished to never let go for fear that I would wake up and it would all be a dream. I guess in reality that is exactly what it was.
See, I did not desire her but I longed to control her. To feel her trembling as I splayed my hand across her chest. A finger dipping past her navel to that special place that made her quiver. I longed for it. Prayed for it. But I did not desire it.
I wonder if there was something wrong with me.
How could I, a healthy human being, not see all that she had to offer. An amazing body with a personality to match. She was the ideal being and yet I could only dream.
I often wonder what she truly thinks of me when she smiles, if she smiles still.
I contemplated praying the other day when I saw my mother crying. An irresistible urge to comfort her in the only way she knows how. But I digested the feeling and found it lacking…something.
A certain flavor to give rise to my struggles. Not things I share with those flawed like me but something I quickly lust about to those others who believe. Others who are so far from me but still people I love.
I saw my mother crying and wanted to give comfort in the only way she knew how. Copy the posture beaten into me and speak past a jaw wired shut. But there was something wrong with this image. This debatable fiction layed out before me.
I tried to bring up the images of those I despise with such a passionate love that it can only be fate. Oh how I tried to push them away but when I needed them most they stood by. Watching my mother with regretful tears in her eyes. Me on my knees easing my hands on high!
But I distress with this taste in my mouth most foul and tamed. Struggling past the restraint to say amen.