Tonight I cry in
My peppermint tea, A toast
To my sorry life.

The most obnoxious part about
being a communications major,
is having to tell people you're  a
communications major, it's having
to explain to concerned strangers
what I plan to do with that-

The major question is the new,
What's your sign?
The future physicist asks
with crooked smile, plastic cup
in hand, and *** in his eyes.
My answer elicits a sigh, a smirk,
and what do you plan to do with that?
He asks the way one asks a child
******* on their parents car keys.

So I tell him:
I plan to hang my degree in my
guest bathroom-

Why?

*Because I don't give a **** about what
other people think of it.

I only ever worried that you
were too old for me.
Never once thought that I
could be too young for you.

I felt an uncomfortable mix
of excitement and fear
when I caught your eyes
lingering around my thighs.

I never imagined that you
too had an internal debate
somewhere between your
morals and your...

I don't want to be your
temptation, forbidden fruit.
Maybe if I were riper you'd
feel better about picking me.

One coffee and one tea
in a cafe you and me

A smile, then a laugh
eyes speak on my behalf

I'm nervous and you can tell
my voice is begging to rebel

Your eyes try to read my shyness
your tongue full of wryness

Beginnings are my favorite part
but this could break my heart

Women that are like water are
afraid of men who are like mountains.
We move freely downhill toward
the ocean and get carried away
by the tides, swept away by
opportunity, and circumstance,
not stopping to think of the
stability that rocks can offer.

When I see a mountain I
only see the ways in which
we would torture each other.
I would seep into his cracks trying
to know the in's and the out's
of him only to have him
freeze me out.

Water when it freezes
becomes solid.
Love when you freeze it
becomes solid,
expands and breaks that
which tried to contain it.
Please don't try to contain me

I can't change what I am
I do not deserve your strength
you do not deserve my indecisiveness
Please do us both a favor, walk away
Save us both from this sadness.

I find it ironic that for a
man who didn't want to be
a music teacher you are so eager
to teach me how to make music.
You're patient with me when
our notes turn sour or the
rhythm is all wrong.
With gentle hands you run
scales over my spine like
keys of a baby grand, and
remind me of the importance
of breath support, while
simultaneously using my air.
You tell me that stage fright
is only as real as you let it be.
That making love, not unlike
singing, is about letting
the audience see your soul, and
that you (the only patron in my
concert hall) already sees it, loves it,
and wants to hear it.

When it's time to tell the boy, the name
Of my pet elephant in the bedroom,
I know to expect one of two reactions.
His eyes could widen, with interest,
At the prospect of having stumbled
Upon America, a new world.
They only want to plant their flag.
But more likely he will grow quiet,
Not knowing what to say to fix me,
I didn't realize I was broken.
More likely my virginity is not a
Responsibility he signed up for.

He won't leave me right away,
But for all intensive purposes
He's no longer with me.
This kind of distance is not
Geography related.
Now holding hands is a chore,
For it's no longer foreplay.
What's the point of taking me to bed
When there's that much pressure.
He doesn't want to give me the wrong idea.
He love's me, too much to
Take that away from me.

I don't want it taken from me
I want to share the best parts
Of ourselves.  
I want to come together,
In every meaning of the phrase.
I won't let the oppression of
God in our bed, but I want
To utter his name in vain.

I decided a long time ago
That I'd wait for love, but
I never thought that love
Would make me wait this long.
Never thought I'd avoid first kisses
With the fear they'd be last kisses.
I never thought I could scare boys away,
But my virginity is no longer an elephant.
It has become this dragon,
That no one is brave enough to slay.

And so I sit, in my ivory tower
Of ****** frustration, and wait on love.
I'm waiting for a third type of reaction.