By: C.J. Shaleesh
the world knew love.
spread it across its surface in the lightness that is life.
but when the lost girl was young, she never knew life for love or
love for life or what love was and how it fit into life.
she knew that love was for the everyday princes and princesses
who would outgrow their titles as their imagination fades.
It was the magic of hugs and kisses. sparks and tingles that mark home.
it was a parting gesture. a way to tell family members goodbye.
in her teenage years she still didn’t know love,
confused it with lust. thought its meaning was sex.
she saw it in everything.
flower petal breasts holding powdered sperm in their cleavage.
the sun and moon in a sensual dance of self discovery,
to figure out who was the top and who was the bottom.
even in pencils drilling into paper, then
pleasurably tickling their marks away as they erase.
as an adult, her perception of love
became a combination of comfort and pain.
comfort from settling for plain and ordinary.
no longer lingering in ideals of fantasy.
pain from losing those who were deported to the dark, dead.
her attachment to them meant something was lost in her head.
lost woman. lost girl. lost without knowing love.
just wanting to find meaning her way.