.38

I moved around A LOT when I was younger. That's one of the reasons I find "So where are you from..." to be one of the hardest questions for me to answer. Because really, I'm not FROM anywhere. I was born some place and then bounced around every 3 years or so.

But the one skill I developed from my travels was recognizing those people who would be friends for life. I am a really good pen pal and I keep in touch with people I haven't seen in 18 years (and at 26, that's saying a great deal). Even with my college group of buddies, I'm the one who everyone checks in with and I'm the one who reports how e'rybody's doing. So and so is married. So and so is engaged. Blah blah blah I've even been known to go off on people who don't keep in touch. Friendship is really a very big deal to me. Always has been. So when I think I've found a friend, and I find that I've misjudged them and they're less honorable or kind-hearted or...friendly...than I thought they were or hoped they were, I take it kind of hard. And yesterday, I found out that a "friend" pretty much dissed me this past weekend. Needless to say I was mad.

No, scratch that.

I was HOT! .38 (as my Dade County homies say)

There's gotta be some bad karma that comes to someone who pisses off a Muse. It's like upseting a god...or a demi-god. Plague upon your houses or something like that. Fire and brimstone.

As a Muse you can't just go around cussing people out. One cannot just send mean and nasty e-mails like...

DEAR MR. ASSHOLE,

I REALLY THOUGHT WE WERE BETTER THAN THIS. WHAT A DUMBASS I WAS. AND WHAT A WASTE OF A NUMBER YOU TURNED OUT TO BE.

KISS OFF,
AM

But really...where's the class in that? There requires a modicum of refinement and finesse when expressing your displeasure as a Muse. And what better way to GO-OFF than in a poem. And not just any poem--that ol' free verse/slant rhyme stuff is not classy. But what better than a Shakesperean sonnet. And who better than myself to cuss-a-nigga-out in iambic pentameter. So without further ado, may I present...

A Scorned Woman's Sonnet

Like suffocating in the open air,
Like drowning on the driest of dry land,
I just cannot seem to catch my breath;
And, I just don’t quite seem to understand.

You and I were little more than friends,
Just gentle passersby, in the grand scheme.
But now, as I see how eas’ly you dismiss,
I begin to see how little I did mean.

As daily I spent hours at your will,
I for hours flirted on your line.
And with no expectation from the act
Except to know the pleasure of your time.

And when we talked, the subjects—what array!
From poetry and love, to faith and courage.
I felt more intimately your comp’ny I must know
And set to planning when our bodies would converge.

The act was rushed, no time for true romance.
How unnatural it really all did feel.
But later when you smiled, the light I saw
Made the moments that we shared seem that much more real.

But then no calls, no chats, no little notes.
Your presence was as distant as the stars.
Your absence made me see I’d made a friend
And that I’d miss you now that you are gone so far.

So when I heard that you were here in town,
Imagine my shock, surprise and my dismay.
From a so-called friend, what heartless disregard!
Feeling slighted, I have little left to say.

Maybe if you hadn’t meant so much,
This wouldn’t hurt and I’d not gone berserk,
You once had my heart in the purest way,
But not no mo’! O’ what a selfish jerk!