wanting

I have wanted. It rips me inside. When I look into eyes and their bodies two step back from me. It rips me from wanting. I have felt the unwanted specks of spit, fickle on my lips. I see my hunched posture, bent apart; I am a shape that should not be. I need, like you need to breathe. I need like ointment over a burn. I need to be different.
I sit in front of the home, wheeled out like a bag of garbage. I sit in the sunlight. I have been dressed in a dull gray sweater by an orderly who doesn’t talk to me. I have a bright red hat pulled over my ears. My head hangs to the side. They line us up in a row. We sit. The only look I get is pity. Everyone is so sorry I am not as good as them. Everyone is so embarrassed I am not as good as them.
All the time she walks by, she is my wanting. She of the sandy brown hair cut to her shoulders, thick as the sunlight I sit in. Her red wool jacket down past her knees. Her jacket will hold her in and warm from the world. She looks at me without repulsion. She looks at me without fear. She looks at me like I am a helpless baby, something to be held and cooed to, like I a drowning beetle she would swoop from a lake with her too perfect hand.
I love her like a real man would. I want to love her like a real man would. My wanting is maggots eating little bloody holes into my stomach. She has made me small with her smile. I need to rise up powerful, like Poseidon from the ocean. I need, like you need to breathe, I need to rise up from this chair and tower whole over her.
I would pull the red wool jacket from her, the buttons popping off. With one downward motion of my arm I would tare her silk undershirt in half. She would gasp in pleasure as her breasts rolled free. I would take her on the sidewalk. I would be all control and all man. I would take her to a home I had built with my too perfect hands. I would cook her dinner and I would wash the dishes and I would take her on the dining room table like a man does.
I try to hurl myself out of my chair. I need for my atrophied husk to summon one miracle and pitch itself at the sidewalk just hard enough to split my skull and let this mistake leek out from me. I need them to come out and know I have moved myself. I have moved myself to a place where no more applesauce will spooned through my lips.
Everyday at nine fifteen she walks by. Every day I try to tip towards freedom until they roll me inside at ten thirty.
I am wanting. It rips me inside.