Attending my first Seattle Poetry Slam, I came home realizing the sonnets and haiku I composed didn’t work for the slam. It had to be one poem, 3 minutes long, angry, edgy, about a topic I was passionate about.
This has been a discussion between my male friends and I for awhile, so I thought it was time to write about it!
—–
They say I’m “just not that into you.”
I say bull, bull, a thousand times bull!
That statement is so void and null,
You want to know why? I’ll tell you, true.
You wouldn’t know if I was into you
If you were hit by a freight train on the tracks.
If you were thrown off a bridge in a gunny sack.
If I held you underwater ‘til your face turned blue.
Yuck.
That rhyme sucked.
I think it’s time
To do away with love rhymes.
Because the truth is I think about you.
A lot.
Two words worth.
A lot.
You don’t know
How I mull over
And over and over and over and over
Every word you’ve spoken.
Every text you sent.
Every email that’s made it past my spam filter and into my inbox
I’ve laid waste to,
Just to try to taste
The truth.
Because I CAN handle the truth!
Can you?
Do you know that all my female friends
Keep telling me “Let her wonder.
Let her think you’re busy.”
(and I am).
“That you’ve got other interests “
(because I do).
But the fact of my heart is this:
I want to communicate with you.
I can take the stupid, insignificant two or three minutes
Out of my morning, and another one or two
Out of my afternoon, evening or night,
Just to let you know
I’m thinking about you.
But all my BFFF (best female friends forever)
Tell me to settle.
They say “relax” and
“Let her come to you”.
But you never do.
Why not?
Because you’re busy believing the same
Stupid
Madison Avenue-taught,
Sex In the City-rehearsed
Lies.
“Don’t let him know too soon.”
“Don’t appear too anxious!”
“Hold yourself aloof.”
“Make him guess about you.”
Bull. I say Bull. A thousand times, Bull!
Because do you know what I guess about you?
I guess you’re not that into me.
When you appear not too anxious
I hear: “I don’t wanna raise a fuss”.
When you hold yourself aloof,
I want to try to come to you.
I want to appear too interested…
But then all your BGFFs
And mine
Combine
and say “Ooooh… he’s desperate.”
Hells yeah!
I AM desperate!
Desperate to know if you want to get to
know me better.
Desperate to know if you like me at least a quarter
as much as I like you.
Desperate to understand why,
If I kiss you and you sigh
And later text me in bliss
And say: “Thanks for the long slow, romantic, sensual kiss”,
And tell me I’ve got it going on,
Why three days later I haven’t heard from you
Either from phone
Or email,
Or text message.
Even though I’ve called you once, emailed you once and texted you twice.
You want to know why we’re not going out
Tonight?
Tomorrow?
This weekend?
Because after a long, slow, romantic, sensual kiss
That you enjoyed on Monday,
You still don’t have the cajones`
to return my call,
Text me back,
Or answer my email.
And when I called you Tuesday,
The day after the kiss I thought was so great,
I had so much hope I could schedule a Wednesday,
Or a Thursday,
Or a Friday,
Or a weekend day
Rendezvous
With you
and I;
Where we could pick up
Where we left off,
Where I could show you that
All your complaining about Seattle men,
That there aren’t any
Who match your need
Of being emotional or 80% intellectual
And 20% goofy …
is 100% wrong.
I could show you that at least one
Would love to dance with you again
Or go out under the full moon again
Or take you canoeing like when
You were a river-running kid again.
Or even go to mid-week church with you
And discuss things you’d never talked to about
With any other man
Until we did last week.
I had so much hope you’d
Return my phone call,
If for nothing more than to say
“I’m really busy, but I want to talk to you later.”
But all my friends
And all my experience
With all the other women I’ve scared away
By being too intense
And too eager
And too desperate
Tell me “Don’t call.
Let her come to you.”
But you don’t.
And you won’t.
Because you don’t want to appear
Too intense.
Or too eager.
Or too desperate.
So this week will pass by,
Like this:
Monday: We kissed.
Tuesday: I called you.
Wednesday: Nothing.
Thursday: Even if you did contact me again,
Would you think it rude that I asked you out for today?
Friday: You’re leaving on a camping trip.
I’m picking up my parents.
Saturday and Sunday: You’re still camping,
And I’m still on an Island with my parents.
Or traveling to mourn a lost relative,
Where I’ll be until Monday evening.
Late Monday. I’ll get home
About the time you watch Frasier.
Monday evening.
A week past
When I last
Held you,
Gazed at the full moon,
And in a parking garage
Kissed you, and kissed you well,
Because I know how.
I just don’t know how to wait.
I’m just not that into you?
Bull. Bull.
A thousand times, Bull!