I am a woman.
I am a woman with four kids.
Yet, once upon a time, this woman
Memorized the curves of another woman’s lips.
She yearned for the feel of another woman’s skin on her own
And longed to touch the gentle swell of that woman’s hips.
She daydreamt about cupping that woman’s bosom in her hands
And ached to kiss every inch of that woman’s fingertips.
When she slept, she had that woman woven in her dreams –
Her gentle smile that sends a silent mirth to her eyes;
Her jaunty walk that propels her through life;
Her lilting voice that closely resembles a song;
And, her cool hands that could seem to do no wrong.
Yes, I was a woman obsessed.
Obsessed at the idea of abandoning the norms of my life.
Obsessed at the thought of making another woman my lover, my wife.
But, while this woman was dreaming of running her fingers over every soft plain, valley,
And hill of another woman’s land, her hands were embroiled in caressing
Different borders of shafts, hard ground, and lots of wiry strands.
Instead of soft hair and scents of citrus and jasmine,
Her nostrils were overpowered with the smell of sandalwood and musk.
When this woman opened her eyes to awake to the morning
She wanted for her and that woman of her dreams,
She was assaulted by the reality that she was a woman imprisoned
In a woman’s body.
A body that betrayed her at the middle of the night.
A body that succumbed to the ministrations of the man now holding her tight.
So, how is this woman now?
She is still a woman –
With four kids, a diva of a dog, and long ago dreams
That tie her to another world;
Where she was a woman who fantasized about another woman,
Whose soft skin she was never able to touch,
Whose lipstick-covered lips she was never able to claim as her own,
And who never even knew the feelings she had
Before she decided to become the woman she is now –
A mother, a daughter, a sister, a lover, a friend.
She has become the woman who held her fantasies at bay
And left them at once upon a time.