One day you will expect it.

It was October, the leaves were changing into their warm melted tangerine.

 I was intrigued. You seemed special.

 Talking day in and out. Sharing stories of addictive and non-reciprocated love of

Parents personality deficits and futures of film school, theater and poetry.

I waited and waited for you to figure out where you wanted to go

We drifted through blue-hued snow of struggling winter.

 Then I got fed up. I backed up. I stopped. And you came back!

 My first together. Which means. I am officially hyperventilating.

I don’t become someone’s.

 I let you in. I let you know and I am becoming yours.

Next, I will love you.

What if I love you?

What if I love you now?

You don’t go to sleep one day in-like and wake up the next in-love

 You decide you are bored, you don’t think I am “adorable”, “smart” or that our baggage compliments    Each other?  You change your mind.

 After I let you go there.

After I asked you to go there.

 My first secret is I am afraid of you.

 I am afraid I will love you.

 And Fuck you for that.

 Fuck you for taking your time.

 Fuck you for paying attention.

Fuck you for remembering I sang Ring of Fire for my freshman show choir auditions.

Fuck you for telling me you couldn’t stop thinking of me. That you wanted me. Wanted me.

For having that dream where I sang to you.

“The scars of your love they leave me breathless

I can’t help feeling

We could have had it all

Rolling in the deep

You had my heart and soul in your hand and you played to the beat”

And I doubt you have the same fear.

You won’t love me. You will forget. You will get bored. And you will be fine.

 Now, I will be fine too.

But it will take longer.

The pollen is in the tense air and I am sneezing and you’re still

Here standing in your tattered angry birds shirt and we are building memories… can’t breathe. Sneeze.

 And here is another secret: When I say “Fuck-you-go-away” a part of me is testing you.

I constantly need reassurance.

 I am waiting for you to walk away. You quoted that song the other day “I have not a notion”

 And I am afraid you are just wandering.

Isn’t all time borrowed anyway?  

I have to have a plan. I will always have a plan to be fine.

I am invested. I am not borrowing time.

I am not wondering. Please feel the same.

 And my last secret is I hate that I am writing a poem about you. Do you deserve it? Probably not.

 Did I need to say these things? No. But somehow, some way, here we are and fuck you for that. 

9 months of soaking our feet in Epsom to prolong the “carbon foot-print of the man”. Expecting

Brownies from scratch, bleached pearly socks and Yuengling during half-time

All for the name of femininity

Millions lost to silicone injections, push-up wonder bras, tummy tucks and Bong low rise jeans

 To be more appealing and dainty

A vow of allegiance to love and obey?

A vow to scream only your name baby

A vow to please your God-damn, perfect, loving Mother whose pepperoni rolls are better

A vow to share my jasmine bubble bath and not tell you buddies on poker night

A vow for better or worse till death do us part. Just like “Paradise by the Dash Board Lights”.

Written like Nicholas Sparks to

 Convey the depth of our girly feelings

Which only get us into trouble on the front lines when bombs are

Blowing you away because you couldn’t look away from

Our womanly wiles

Grecian law to bind our rights and

Acquire our immense dowry—

Our father’s 10 point mounted buck’s head, his extra mower and a grave plot.

The men from which we came

The empire of which we hid in the shadows painting Judas and running to Lesbos

When all else fails fake an orgasm

Because men need their pat on the back

Sometimes on the ass

So my mother has always said

Don’t forget blow-job week every 28 days until the hot-flashes begin and the eggs spoil

No matter how strong the woman the man will always win at arm wrestling

Thus the invention of figure-head

The position to be fulfilled in the business suit to hide the misogyny

Of the man who, in his spare time, beeps-honks-winks-whistling at our asses

As we walk into the high school on Election day- Thank God for Hilary.

We have always been the motivation and will continue to be

We are the prize of a good warrior because

We hold the womb to create the man

The womb

Controls the world

Nine months of annoyance and agony to prolong the carbon foot-print of the “man”

Chores owed of chicken noodle soup recipes and pruny fingers

All for the name of femininity

Hundreds lost on glitter and stain to be more

Appealing and dainty

A vow of allegiance to love and obey?

Written like Nicholas Sparks to

 Convey the depth of our girly feelings

Which only get us into trouble and cause loss of attention during war

Our womanly wiles

Grecian law to bind our rights and

Acquire our immense dowry based on the triumphs of our father

The men from which we came

The empire of which we hid in the shadows

Painting Judas and running to Lesbos

When all else fails fake an orgasm

Because men need their pat on the back

So my mother has always said

And no matter how strong the woman the man will win in arm wrestling

Thus the invention of figure-head

We have always been the motivation and will continue to be

We hold the womb

To create the man

The womb

To control the world