The Space I Fill
by Maxwell Enochs
I.
I am standing, and slipping on the precipice of desire
Tumbling headfirst into a life I have been
Kicking and screaming for since I was a child
I live off the backs of
My father’s privilege
And my mother’s sacrifice
In youth, I hated them both
When someone gives you the world
Sliced neatly for the picking
Hands dripping with saccharine discretion
The fear in you rejects it
II.
I’ve been practicing my doe eyes in the mirror
Hoping one day I can use them on someone
To get to the place I need to be
To feel valued by a person not related to me
To feel desired by someone who could have anyone in the world
Offered on a platter,
Sliced neat
And yet the fruit they have to tug, and pull, and wrestle off the vine
The fruit that prickles, and bites, and stings, and burns the lips
The fruit that bruises, and mushes, and rots, and molds in its basket
Is the one that they will choose
That I can be the world to someone who never loved me prior
And, hopefully, will never not love me again
III.
In my mind, I’m already thirty-five
Married with two children
I smile and I poke and I prod
They love me all the same
I am divine