I Found Him Wanting

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I found him wanting.
Wanting me to be his,
Wanting me to be
The person in his bed.

I found him wanting.
Wanting me
Based on the way I looked,
On the way I moved
But did he want me
For the way I thought?

I found him wanting.
Wanting a version of me
That was constructed
By his imagination,
Wanting me to possess qualities
He found pleasing,
But qualities I never had.

I found him wanting,
But I didn’t find myself
Wanting him.

His soul
Did not speak to mine
In words that were older
Than the time we are aware of.

When we did speak,
Our words were so different.

Mine were of poetry, art,
Movies, old and new,
Traveling to see the world
Instead of just going somewhere.

His words were of things
That never held my attention
Or were so out of my realm
Of thought, I required
MapQuest and a GPS
To find my way home.

And yet,
He wanted me.

No polite words
Would dissuade him
From desiring me.

No diversions masked
In honeyed words
Would remove him
From the path that
Led my way.

I was loathe
To use the only alternative,
To smite him down
With the sword
That is my tongue.

At first,
I simply sliced at his flesh,
With insults aimed
At his physical attributes.

Then I sliced deeper,
Ridiculing his opinions,
His likes and dislikes,
His dreams and fears.

Then with my blade
Aimed at his neck,
I explained exactly
How I felt about him,
Never clothing my words
In fine garments.

I sliced his head off
And handed it to him.

I am the reluctant samurai
On the battlefield of love.

I found myself wanting,
Needing the freedom
From his wanting.