I met a man the other day,
About 6”2 from about 2 feet away.
He was tall and dark and wise and uncanny.
And he sat with me and said,
“My name is Sanny.”
And he told me his life story.
He said some of it was boring
But the music in his voice was roaring.
He was excited to tell me about his day at work that day;
How he got that promotion
And then gave it away.
He said the other man deserved the trophy.
He worked so hard and played the goalie.
I didn’t ask a question.
I didn’t say a word.
I wasn’t going to tell him I thought he was absurd.
But he could tell from the look on my face
That I had grown up in a society of disgrace.
He looked at my thesis
And gave me some cautionary pieces.
He asked me what I’d like to be:
A lawyer, a doctor, a singer, the queen bee?
I gave him a look of perplexity
And he explained to me the power of certainty.
He said,
“One day, you’ll be something.
Because I see you studying here everyday.
It’s almost disgusting.
Now don’t get me wrong girl,
You’re not unpleasant.
But because you spend your days and nights in the words of your textbook,
You’ve become a scholastic peasant.”
And I could’ve been offended,
And requested he mend the words he proudly defended.
But his words kept whirling
Into the coffee-scented aroma that was swirling.
He told me his goals.
And how he’d challenged his superior roles.
He never asked me what my name was,
Because it didn’t matter.
He had seen my sunken eyes
And my complexion begin to batter.
He told me he grew up in Bosnia
And noticed my insomnia.
He noticed the way I looked up to people only because I was short,
And he said that I needed to acknowledge that I am my own resort.
He says he has a wife and a family,
And that he always feels the need to be manly.
But he looked at me and said,
“I’m sure you could lead for me instead.
I can see it in your eyes,
You want to be the one who flies,
And word to the wise,
Even Superman
Woman,
Cries.”
And he glanced up at me—
The first time anyone had.
He told me when someone sits down to enjoy the beauty of life,
It’s not so bad.
Dead in the eye,
He told me,
“You be bold, you be beautiful, you be brave.
Don’t let anyone tell you how to behave.
And when life gives lemons or a fancy promotion,
You think about what you’ve got and experience the lovely commotion.”
For a girl who always had a remark to bark or an input to inspire,
I was speechless, and needless to say,
Beginning to perspire.
I had become the product of my youth,
Which I buried in the textbook of the uncouth.
I hadn’t said anything ******,
But I had become a statistical number
Of those who take tests and write papers and waste their precious slumber
On ACTs and SATs and MTV and Tumblr.
Deep in my awakened blue eyes,
He witnessed the thoughts unraveling like a sneaky spy.
He implanted a plant of unrelenting growth.
Within a matter of minutes, he taught me how to **** out the most
Of the world on which I place my intellectual bare hands like an ambitious cloak.
He told me to stand up,
4’11,
4’10,
And all.
He told me I had a short figure,
For a brainy leader so tall.
He told me he was fifty-six and six foot two,
But he watched the way I learned from the world and wished he could walk a day in my size 6-shoe.
He then stood up and extended his hand.
I said, “it was nice to meet you.”
And he answered, “Someday, you will realize you’re more than four foot ten and you can
Be the one who aspires to be more than a fan of everyone else’s own life span.
And I hope they all look you dead in the eye and show you how much they care,
You look like one who breeds too much potential to simply sit with your coffee and homework and iPhone and wasted youth on that boring chair,
To let the thoughts you have roaming in this free wifi and G-D given life not to share.”
Better presented ******
