LoOk at me!
Pssst!
Over here!
Pick me!
Pick me!
But as I look at all my
choices
And took in the various
noises
I suddenly became all the
more flustered
Finding it hard for me
to find courage to muster…
Surely she would do…
She has money, and jewelry,
and she’s a…
Mighty fine young lady!
All the more reason to avoid me
as I am such a crazy…
What happens when you become
a conspiracy theorist?
What happens when you grew up
in Harlem..
and are one of the realest?
Almost no one
cuts the mustard…
I suppose I am all over the place
like a mad woman’s
custard…
I used to know what I wanted…
Now I am afraid of what I feel…
I seem to want something worse
than an object…
Something far too real…
Someone at my beck and call…
Someone under my heel…
You can’t do that with these career minded
women…
All high and mighty and used to that
good living…
How could I get her to accept my fist swinging
My hand slapping…
My purse ripping…
I never understood when I was younger how
a slap could feel like a kiss…
I remember being revolted by
the concept
Not able to entertain or accept
Only to fall into the same mindset
With my role models what would one
expect…
She pleaded with me to give her a chance
I explained she was far too expensive a romance
She exclaimed but that’s not true!
I never ask money of you!
I explained not everything costs dollars…
I need a woman who makes me holler…
And rip roar…
One who I can beat on and begs for more…
With that she backed away…
No longer vying for my attention…
No desire to give me my way…
Still I patiently wait…
But not forever…
Lord willing one day.
