At the salsa club

I see
the way you stare at me from
behind your wife's shoulder.

Such a pretty shoulder, so smooth
under the pink shirt she must have
bought to please you,
straps falling down to her mid-arms
as she leans in to kiss you.

Still, you look at me, even though her
luscious lips caress your chin.

What is it about me that makes you
look so intently?
What could possibly entrance your coffee-brown
eyes so much that
you must watch me dance?

One, two, three, four,
twirling, grinding, stepping to the music,
my hips in the hands of men we both call
friends.
Hair pasted to my sweaty face, arms entwined with a partner's,
feet speaking a languange that matches the
pulsing of the music,
hips speaking words I cannot say
yet feel racing through my veins.

I dip, my back arches to the ceiling, my hair
reaches for the floor,
legs wrapped around his waist,
and I see your eyes...

only your coffee eyes.

I do not hear the applause, do not taste
the cranberry and vodka placed in my hands...
I see only your smile.

I see her smile.

While you watch me because you want me,
I watch you
because I miss what you have sitting beside you.

Love.

She loves you, she bears your children,
presses her hips against you while you drift to sleep.
She wears clothes to please you, smiles at the words you
whisper into her ear.
She lives for you, can't you see that? She lives for your
kindness.

I would never be so attentive, because all I would take from
you
would be the color of your eyes, the
brightness of your smile. I would
paste them on my ceiling to remind me when I awake
that there is still desire,
there is such a thing as chemistry,
and to prove that

I am worth something more.

I deserve honest eyes, looking down into my own...
never from behind another woman's shoulder.

Finals: Two Down, One to Go!

I love the hustle and bustle of finals week! The frantic typing of students in the library, attempting to finish up those last -minutes essays, the spanish club practicing in the cafeteria, the teachers walking around with arms full of binders and books; all this screams THE END OF TERM IS HERE! By Friday, we will be free!

I had two finals today- WR 121 and Women's Studies. I did very well on both, I must say, despite being nervous to give my Feminist Action presentation.

Now comes the dreaded math final. Wish me luck!

The Pursuit of Passion

As a child, one is told "you should follow your passions, follow your dreams".

That is all and well, if you know what makes you passionate, if you know what your dreams are! I can't claim to know that one certain thing that makes me tick, that I live to die for; there are too many things that I am passionate about.
Let me list them, since I love to make lists:

-Dancing. I hear music, and it makes me want to dance, to express the sensuality of who I am.

-Reading. I pick up a book, and I fall in love with every word, every paragraph, every page.

-Sitting still. Watching the world dance around me in slow motion.

-Being outdoors. Going into the forest and loosing the hum of humanity, the bustle of thoughts. In nature one can commune with God and discover the answers within.

-Writing from my heart.

-Singing.

-Adventuring.



Let me also compile a list for you of what I am not passionate about:

-School. I cannot force myself to think like I am expected to think. As such, I am not doing my best in school... or, rather, I am... they just don't grade you for your true best work.

-Conformity.

-Leading a boring life.

-White picket fences.

-Conventionalism.

-Religious morality. Like my personal guru Ralph Waldo Emerson, I create my own morals. (Read his essay "Self Reliance" if this train of thought interests you)


As you might have gathered, my passions and my dislikes colide. This is making it very difficult to choose a major in school. Now that I am recieving financial aid, I am forced to make a decision; not right away, of course, but I should figure it out before too much time and money goes by. Choices, choices, choices! What's a girl to do?

I long to be a true gypsy, to travel, to write, to learn, to explore; and I can even do this in my own backyard! Yet the pressure is fierce from society to "make something of myself".

(Argh, in the most deep of piratey voices!)

Why can't I just live one day at a time? Why can't I pursue that which I most love, without having to get a degree and pay off school till I'm in my thirties? Why can't I dance, or sing, or just play? Why can't I write poetry about my past and whom I love, about the way the wind sings in my bones?
The reality is that I can. From the safe confines of my secure home, purchased with money earned from a "good"job, which was procurred by a degree after slaving through college and adhering to patterns of though which I do not endorse( except with the money they take from my pocket for classes that are required for my degree. Chemistry to be a early childhood educator? Really?).

Oh yes, we must pursue our dreams; we must live our passions.

For what purpose?