They call me thirsty
Scribble keen on my windows
They say I seek hydrants
Fixate on men for my jones
In every room I chat
Lurk every place for a date
No location too sketchy
While I’m in search for a mate
But I inhale their laughter
Eat their jokes as my meals
As I sit in my longing
Awaiting the quench love will yield
I’m not desperate for no reason
I don’t sit parched in a flood
I’m not surrounded by lakes
I only have oceans of mud
They say be patient, he will come
Fix yourself for the one you long
They give me how-to’s and self-helps
Tell me every inch of me is wrong
I’m too bad, I’m too good
I’m too stupid, too knowing
I’m too big, I’m too small
Too much, no, too little is showing
And I swear I’ve changed all but my color
Some women even adjust that
But even everything isn’t enough
Traveled forever and I’m still where I’m at
Now my sails have no more wind
Too much no and not enough yes
I no longer can feel a current
It’s the fault of optimism I guess
For I wanted to ignore their mantra
To forget the truth I’ve known
They chant “Our pleasure is your privilege”
The omen of Adam’s bone
-Amber Johnson
