I Don’t Want To Own You

I don’t want to own you.
In fact, the first thing I ever loved about you was your un-own-ability.

I saw your freedom, your self containment,
A profound inner communion.
I was attracted right away by what I observed
As a beautiful specimen of wholeness.
That’s how I imagined you anyway, watching you

From afar.

Now that I know you though,
And what it’s like to hold you close,
What you smell like after hours of dance,
What you sound like when you laugh,
What you feel like when you cry,
And how deeply our silence can descend,
Something comes up in me that doesn’t want to share.
It wants to grab on to you,
Call you by the deadliest name: “Mine.”

When this comes up in me, I have to acknowledge the fear
Born of the illusion that you have something I need
To make me feel whole.

When this comes up in me, I have to remind myself
Over and over and over
that I don’t want to own you,
I want to love you,
And those two are worlds apart.

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