Fourteen years seems
like a long time
when you haven’t lived very long.
And it is.
But more than that,
It’s a long time,
Not to tell someone that they have you.
Like a car or a house,
Because have means that it’s there,
But you don’t necessarily possess it.
But even though it’s just “to have”,
Fourteen years is a bit long to be so very “haved”
Without telling someone that they have you.
I know it’s not a word,
At least not in this context,
But most people can relate,
To the feeling of being haved.
The feeling of being tied,
As a Bronte once said,
From under one’s left rib,
To a similar place in another’s frame.
The feeling of knowing that if I’m ever to sacrifice myself to the eternal flames of matrimony,
It would only be for him.
And he’ll never know,
Unless I tell him,
That he had me on the first day of school,
A new district, a new life,
Confused and concerned,
Scared of the newness,
And all of the sudden there he was,
Wearing lopsided glasses and a lopsided grin,
Perpetually wrinkled clothes from running wild,
Nose in a book,
Incapable of noticing him had it not been for that impossible, infectious laugh.
He had me,
When he grinned and offered friendship,
Something I was unfamiliar with,
And he’s had me every day since,
Even after the turmoil of childhood,
Deaths and epiphanies,
An engagement ring,
And numerous loveless nights,
He still has me.
I’ve been “haved” from the moment we met.
Haved by the way he says my name,
Haved by the dopamine that floods my veins every time he’s near,
Haved by the silliness that returns me to grade school,
Playground dust on the palms of my hands,
Tossing rocks to him under a mesquite tree,
And here I am,
Already a woman,
Yearning to be a mother,
And yet I’m still haved by him in every way but one-
I don’t have him back.
He’s haved by everyone but me.
Dedicated to anything and everyone that happens to have him at that time,
But no matter what I do,
No matter how hard I try,
I’ll never have him
As much as he has me.