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