Strangers, freckles, and a window seat...

I had a really nice conversation with a man the other day on my way to school.

I was on the bus, and it was crowded and hot. I was already in a bad mood because I was stressed over school work... and the bus was late, so when it pulled up and I saw there were no seats available for me to set my heavy school bag, I was quickly annoyed. So there I am, forcing my way through the front crowd. Apparently, there is a bus monster of some sort that will eat your toes if you step to the back of the bus so everyone crowds the front (did I mention I hate public transportation and people). Anyway, I finally make it to back and a man offers me the window seat next to him. I guess he could see the annoyed expression on my face. Now, usually I would opt to stand the whole ride (I wasn't going that far), but for some reason I took the seat. I was in a bad mood, my bag was really heavy, so what the hell. Now the guy starts talking to me. Great.

foto booth

To receive everything...

“To receive everything, one must open one’s hands and give.” – Taisen Deshimaru 

They say hands are tools we use to give, to lend, to make love, and to make hate. Some time ago, I dated a guy who loved holding my hand. He once proclaimed that he could hold my hand all day if possible. And he did. All through the city, he led me. Our hands tightly clamped to each other and our arms just swinging into the wind. For a while, I thought he had a hand fetish (which I probably would have been okay with - to each it's own, right?). Well, it turned out he just really liked holding hands. However, for some reason his constant desire to hold my hand made me uncomfortable. While I appreciated the gesture, the combination of our sweat accumulating into a warm puddle in the middle of our palms made me cringe. It sounds gross, but that was the way it played out in my mind. I knew I was wrong and I felt awful for feeling this way.

Hope and I hustle on the same block...

It's been a while since I posted poetry so here you go...written this morning so I'm posting as is.
PS. Happy National Poetry Month!

Hope and I Hustle on the Same Block

I am
an abomination of everything you once thought was real
I am a dreamer
I am everything good that you thought had flown away with the helicopters in your ghetto of dreams
Didn’t you notice?
I am the earnest voice you couldn’t hear over the bullets
I am NOT the slick movement behind closed doors -
The shade that conceals the other side of the window
They don’t call me sunshine for nothing…

My love
I am NOT your baby’s mama –
Your sole piece of drama
I am NOT the warm, cozy and tight little
hole of the night that you can’t find the energy to hold
I am NOT your landlord
Your dreams can live within me rent-free as long as they grow
I am that photo of Parisian lights that you come back to every now and then
just to assure yourself that you too will one day come alive in its luminosity

I am NOT your mother
With me, nothing is easy
and unconditional love is a limited time offer
I am the best of you
You are not the best parts of me
Nor will my body part for you and your forces..…yet.

See,
I’m hard like Monday
But in the core, I am truly Friday
I am the break at the end of a hard week that
you have to earn and
work for

But I don’t own slaves
I am NOT your global leader
I am your pusher
Your pen
Your brush
I am a painter
Sit for me
and then,
only then
can I paint you
a brave world.