Sunday, November 4, 2018
The First Date
Is the text I send.
The usual one.
Again and again.
I don't think I've been on time for anything.
Not even my birth.
Boy, that must have hurt.
I ponder on how much I really owe my mama as my hands continue to wander.
Touching every garment in my closet.
Judging piece by piece. Ripping my self-esteem apart in the mix.
I fall on my bed as a casualty in this war of love. Getting dressed for the one I'm thinking of.
But this date, the one that I continue to be very late, isn't the one I'm thinking of.
What's a first date if it's not a poetry slam
Or spoken word
Or some other literary digest where you overfill yourself on life.
I jump into my jeans as I imagine the words whisking me away to a magical place.
That's probably the only date that I'd never be late.
The first date of my dreams is the one where it seems as though I'll be known in the streets more than the sheets.
"There she goes."
They all say I'm the girl or the man or whatever of all the poetry jams.
I'm doing it with this poet thing and I'm loving every minute of it.
I put on my shoes and glance at myself.
I smile at my reflection and walk through my door like sheer perfection.
I must hurry up for this date.
The one for which I'm already late.
The one that might lead me to my fate....still thinking about my dream date.
But I can wait, for words are timeless and priceless.
I'll wait for the date which I cannot be late.
It will be our first.....the very best date!
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