I reflect on my recent youth,
And realize,
I chase empty husks,
Seeking a love I’ve never felt.
I suppose I have always known,
Always seen that I seek home in others.
Perhaps it was home,
Once,
Or twice,
But if it was,
It was built in lust,
And their luck.
An object in their eyes,
And they a god in mine-
Not once did I fall because it was convenient,
It was quite the contrary,
Really.
My lust is a reflex,
A cry for love,
Not this petty game,
Of white lies I am often subjected to.
Feeding into your fantasies,
To get what they seek.
I feel like a plaything,
That sweet, behaved BabyDoll.
A pawn on their tabletop
And willingly, too,
Title upon my collar.
Ashamed, I am,
Of this toy I become,
For boys who claim to be in love.