I was Built for Marriage

I take it one day at a time. Of course, I don’t have the choice to take two. I don’t have the voice to make you hear me. So then I steer me to these dating sites. Have you seen the trite crap people put on these things. They tell you about how they don’t want flings. They want serious relationship material. Then they tell you how they don’t eat cereal and they only watch reality T.V.

This is too much hassle for me. Plus these things aren’t free. They cost an arm, and a leg, possibly my penis and a sock. All this…and I only talk to one out of ten…maybe one out of 20. These odds don’t tempt me. And yet everyday, I find myself paging away at this catalog of women; just swimming in bullshit. Hoping that I’ll hit a home run. Or at least that the sun will shine long enough for me to go out on a date.

Instead of complaining, I should just laugh. I mean what other options do I have? The people I work with are all my senior. Bar etiquette is an unknown procedure. They say church is nice when you want to find a wife. Then there’s the friend of a friend of a friend of a friend. I need to skip to the end.

You know, where I know her already. Where I’ve survived the unsteady silence while you wait for her entrance, to the quiet bar you’ve picked for your first date. The staying up too late talking on the phone. The arriving home and finding she’s all moved in. The getting down on one knee so you can stop living in sin. The big ceremony where you pay for all your friends to eat dinner. The big moment where you find out she’s got a baby in her. To the day where you send your boy off to college in 1999 Cadillac.

This life is killing me. I want my time back. I was built for marriage, baby carriage, all that shit. Enough hide and seek. Someone, help me find it.

Are You Talking to Me

...I feel nothing from you. Nothing from your look. Nothing from your touch. But I think I heard in a song once that “nothing ain’t nothing, if it ain’t free”. And god damn it lady, I’ve spent a fortune on you.

So then there’s something. I mean we have something right? It’s may not be crystal clear but I am sure if we discuss it long enough, we’ll figure out what it is. But conversation for you is always an internal battle. You’re so worried about not being smart enough, that you sound like an idiot. I promise, this time, I’ll sit, smile and listen. Please tell me your side.

Your silence is your only sentence. My sentence is the two years I have spent battling this silence. Baby, I don’t know what to say. You sit here, on the chair in the corner, with your dark hair draped over one shoulder. That’s so sexy, I am having a hard time thinking but I guess I should focus. So focus I will. My attention is yours.

Hmm, so silence with just a hint of whimper, is your speech. Well, that it is hard… is a hard argument to dispute, is it not? It’s “hardness” matches the looks you are flashing me. But again, it’s not a competition, it’s a conversation. Scratch that. It’s a monologue.