Say Something to That Guy, Or Something”.
So I’m laying beside
on this awful
and its a really awful couch
and I haven’t shaved my legs and my underwear is making me look fat
but in this one moment
when our eyes meet and he holds my gaze just long enough
all of that just disappears
and I’m thinking that you know that point where just everything feels right?
I’ve reached it.
And i’m okay with that.
And every fiber of my being is yelling for me to say something
say something smart
or say something sweet
or say something to prove how worthy you are
like comment on the political implications of the ongoing genocide in Darfur and how it relates to our strained relationship with third world countries
or comment on how cool it was when Bill Mazeroski hit the game winning homer in game seven of the world series in 1960 to defeat the goddamn yankees
or say something about how its really not a moon at all but a space station
I just want to say something
something to deserve what’s happening
something to assure myself that this is for real
something to something to something to anything
but every time I manage to break away for long enough to gather breath,
I find that my words are missing
And I’m kicking myself in the ass because I’m a writer
I’m a poet
I’m a GIRL–I’m supposed to say something here.
I’m supposed to say something cute
say something funny
say something bold
or sexy or smart or mysterious or provocative
but all of that has slipped away and I’m past a point
I never thought I’d reach.
The point beyond happiness where all I think
and hear and breathe is white
but I can still see
and I want to say
but this guy is something else–
and so for once
I’ll let him do the talking.