Anacostia

I finished a skirt. Tied off the end and clipped it from the serger. Oh yes, it was fly. I wondered why the Lord gave me such seemingly useless gifts. Why is there a perpetual feeling of discontent that hangs over my head as does contentment, like a carrot in the face of a donkey? I already know that change and invention and -ish comes from the periphery. But the periphery is dusky and lonely and I see that, "I'm different."

The P90X from the DVDhypeman is on the counter and I stared at my thighs. Nope.

In moments of utter solitude, I think about praying and asking, "Lord, why?" But I already knew the answer and time is better spent asking actual questions. So the prayer is now, "When, Lord, when?"

And a child started talking back, the amount of wisdom she lacked was so expected and so tragic. Ignorance surfaced as she went poppin' off  at the mouth. There was a picture of the President taped to the wall. The view of Washington is ridiculous.

 The teacher looked at the misguided scholar: "Tell it to Obama. . . I don't got time."

I busted out - laughing.

Everything comes with time. Dreams come slow but I know they come. I suppose that's the nature of conception and the depth of procreation. Though I know it's the soft kisses make love beautiful, let me paint the picture as I flail my arms and pout like the thick girl from W.W. and the Chocolate Factory.

I want that job, that man, those clothes, and the billion dollar Beyonce hair. Mostly, I want wisdom. I know God is big and God is infinite. I won't sweat the process. I won't defecate on the struggle. I will seek wisdom.

God gave me style and God made me fly. Why? The same reason God gave me hips for days. . .


Because I can handle them.

When? First,  I'll let it sizzle, then, I'll make it hot.

Via a subtle nod of understanding:  the foreplay of dreams we call a struggle life.