--for all the girls who won't demand he "put a ring on it", and for those who understand that the answer is not in the Steve Harvey book, but that it IS out there somewhere... AND for those, who are neither, but do relate.
here we are
thirty year old school girls
we’re girls, in love
chasing it like windmills or butterflies, with nets
waiting for it
from the boys we love
living in careers that we’d sacrifice
for husbands and children and a passionate companionship
that lasts forever
because we come home alone
here we are
thirty two, thirty five, thirty eight years old,
not feeling old, not BEING old,
but feeling and being old enough to build a life
with a person of significance.
independence is championed and self sufficiency esteemed,
but the truest, sometimes loudest, sometimes quietest desire
is to be dependent on that partner of life
we definitely do believe exists,
and why wouldn’t we?
here we are, forty four, fifty two years old
making decisions we don’t want to make
because of experiences we never thought we’d have
and why? because we didn’t want to settle for something
that didn’t reach the level we once had? or maybe never did?
or maybe did and didn’t work out, or died,
or was mishandled by all parties involved.
we never dreamed it’d be this way.
we never imagined we’d be so easy to sleep on,
so easy to discard, that we’d be the ones they decided
they could live without. that is not what we thought.
but often that is who we are, who we become.
here we are,
school girls longing for the boy who makes us swoon,
longing to mature from school girl to [cherished] wife,
to be the strong woman behind the that man;
the one who is honored to have what we’ve got.
we want the cliché, the fairytale, the dream,
the situational comedy of real love with minimal drama…
the imperfection of a life spent molded with his,
sharpened and fueled by one another,
the way we’ve always dreamt. even when
we see countless friends and loved ones
and folk we don’t know, and ourselves fall victim to
marriage and relationships that crumble
under the strain of weighted life… we are still waiting for our turn
to get it right.
and so we wait. we work. we date. we don’t. we leave the country. we find new cities. we change our jobs. we go to the gym, then to the club, then to church. and back to work. we have babies.
we get jaded. and entertain ourselves. we do the things we want to do, and go on trips together, cosigning on shared experiences that we wished weren’t so.
or we just live each day waiting to see how the dream unfolds. with hope. with expectation. waiting for the moment we can share with our world that we are finally a part of that –ultimate– “We.” and that it was worth the wait.
for some of us girls longing for love, we learn to enjoy the journey as it is, acknowledging and sometimes ignoring the lonesome and confusing moments, accepting allusions of love when they flutter by in the form of someone we could spend our lives with—if even for a short time, and when it dissipates we wonder when a more solid form will appear, and if it will show up for good. for others of us, the journey has even portion of bitter with the sweet, because the thought that something is missing is too overwhelming… while, still, we wait.
but we’re here.
for the record, i don't like this poem. i love it¸ but i wish i hadn't've written it. i'd like to believe that i am not a part of the "we" in this poem, but by all accounts, i'm sure I, THE PERSON, am represented somewhere in these words – especially since i wrote it. nevertheless, maybe now that it's out, i can go to sleep.