teenage want

Posted on July 27, 2009

3


Being your slave what should I do but tend
Upon the hours, and times of your desire?

Shakespeare


i do not i do not want i do i do want i do not want to want. i plead instead, i sulk, i defend i talk to my selves at night before the moon before the seedless moonlight i converse with me because i want, i do not want, i want to want, i do not want to want. i would want if i could but that’s not the want that i want and not the way i want it.

i want him to kiss me even if it feels like being licked by a fish.

i grew out of a root stalk drunken with possibility with potentiality with no pardon for not wanting. not wanting to. wanting to want, not wanting to not want to want i do i do i do.

i want her to make love to me whatever that means.

what do i want to do when no want can be bought cannot be pulled off store shelves burdened with the produce of prosperity, the produce of partiality, because i am partial to my very own self. pregnant with partiality, penniless from giving it all away before i had it. i never had it but now i want it. no i don’t. yes i do.

i want him i want him so much.

maybe i have sex or i don’t. i talk but i don’t talk about what i want. instead, all knowing that what i want, knowing my wants and everybody’s wants because i can see them in their eyes, i talk so much so that i don’t want so i forget the want until i want a beer or a sausage or sex after all. or maybe i won’t talk at all any more, like ever.

i want her to want me so that i know how i feel.

i applaud those who have forgotten their wants and who are brilliantly functioning without them, operating  only on the want of others who also want but don’t want to want. i write about it and i write of it and i write for it, but i don’t write the want itself, the very want, the wondrous want, because if i did, a giant serpent might grow from my hip, its scales covering every one of the products and papers and paravents, our houses of unwanted wares – a snake slithering rhythmically, sighing the song written by want only in the language of want which can only be understood by those in the presence and the state of want, the chanters of want.

i want him to want me to want him.

what am i afraid of, what is behind the great want? there’s nothing, the want stands on its own pink purple little feet, it hovers around my head thickly layered with wormfood whispering faerielike sounds spreading feathery dust to get me to get up and want and fly on the wings of the want – where to?

i want her to make me forget myself.

when i come to close to the want, there’s a guardian of the anti-want the don’t want, the no-man the big mask in the vault, the cloudmaker, the sensor of resistance, the nurturer of no & the enemy of yes. so i stop wanting because i don’t believe i can overcome this fierce warrior because i don’t know the strength of the fire in my belly forged by lifelong want throughout the ages.

what is it you want?


© 2009 finnegan flawnt with a little help from his teenage angst

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