Suit and Tie

I sat there and contemplated what I was doing there. I could be doing something better. Something more.

I could be making love to a lover I once rejected.

I could be trekking on old abandoned grounds barefoot somewhere in the outskirts of outskirts forgotten.

I could be crushing on a tree somewhere in isolated territory.


Maybe France, listening to predictable rhymes.

Hemingway. Or Shakespeare. Maybe Austen.

A podcast with Ira Glass.

I could be dancing naked. Somewhere.

Singing naked.

Talking naked.

Being naked.

Hell, I just like being naked.

I could be humming with the flowers of spring knowing fall is imminent.

Romancing a docile loner.

Listening to cliches and shaking my head;

Valuing people’s worth through their innocent smiles.

Coaxing millionaires into loving themselves.

Laughing at the arrogant and accepting the ignorant.

Hell I could be masturbating in a cabin somewhere in the mountains of West Virginia.

Begging for forgiveness in the early morning because we are all weak humanoids.

In some lab, dissecting psychological complexes because I’m too afraid to use rats.

I could be leaving and loving when I know I’m too afraid to love and leave.

Closing my eyes because I want to take in your image; a still picture for my soul.

Then lying to my friends as I tell them you were insignificant.

Mere entertainment.

I could be screaming at a lover and feeling liberated in the process.

Because emotions make us vulnerable and vulnerability is good.

I could be living in a moment not for the moment because they are not the same.

I could be doing all these things.

But instead, I’m wearing a suit on top and printed leggings at the bottom with my summer shoes. (Tres Chic?)

I’m shaking hands. Nodding.

And realizing transparency is not an option: there is a goal.

One I must adhere to if I want to live the carefree life I aim to.

I must understand that there is no do-over.

I cannot be a victim to my history.

I must rise above. And be resilient.

At least till I can get to a point of freedom of equal platform comparable to a quality of life that accounts for those back home (Somalia) who need me.

I must rise like a king and pray like a beggar.

I must.

Great expectations are not chosen.

I simply must do what needs to be done.

I must.