These Wants

Stretching her fingers,

she tries to reach

the other side of her wants.

She views them there,

clinging,

like vines that dance across

the distressed cement siding

of her former home.
Lovely, and yet suffocating.

These wants,

they mimic and taunt

and she questions when,

and if,

she will be able to touch them.

And whether or not

a single glance

will quench her fierce thirst.

for all the desires

she does not possess.

These wants,

they serve a grand purpose

and distract her from the here,

the now.

They tether her to the past

instead of propelling

her forward

to the place she needs to be

to succeed,

to grow,

to flourish.

She never thinks about why 

her fingers stray off the mark.

And she should think.
She should.