Not the fetish princess of your fantasy delusion,
not a pellirojo, not Asian, with a perfect
ass and body and tits and gaping dickhole mouth,
no vision of desire to you.
The snow floats down in a symphony onto frozen,
icy grass, dead crops, and sleeted roads where cars
swerve violently, driven by numb, clenched hands.
Nor am I what you want(ed)
and who said life was fair? Or that we all get
what we want? Or that we all even get
what we deserve?
Most don’t.
In sub-Saharan Africa, they don’t. In Haiti, they don’t. In China, they don’t.
Most of us, the general populace, are not royalty
and most women, the general populace, are not
porn queens.
On a white, mud-tracked carpet
unrolled beneath my feet, I ascended steps
& boarded a small airline, followed by a few other
passengers. I reached, stuffed my carry-on in the
overhead compartment, the Sasquatch of a Latino
flight attendant walked up, then down, the aisles,
and read the usual scripts about safety and how to
survive in case of a crash.
There was nothing particularly
attractive about her, in your eyes I simulated,
while she buckled her thick midsection
into the seat at the front of the cab,
and we all got ready for takeoff.
We reached peak velocity.
The ‘fasten seatbelt’ light turned off.
I went to the bathroom to cry at the pain
of wanting so badly but never being
good enough.
Walking down the aisle back to my seat, I saw
a plane full of women
all normal looking, none photoshopped
none porn/beauty queens.
none ogres.
All of us somber.
None of us good enough.
And that was the moment when I stopped giving a shit about your fucking delusion.
Written December 2013-June 2015
