Hey, dude. Your lust means more than any woman.
So leave her alone, let her be.
Dude, I wouldn’t want you expressing anything like that to me.
And, really, she’s the same way.
She doesn’t want to obey nature;
She aspires to be a person like me,
Whether he is writing—or just thinking about—poetry.
I’m a dude trapped inside a dude’s body;
I’m enough. I don’t need my kind.
I’m a man comfortable in a man’s mind.
The text I spied off the woman sitting next to me
Was nothing: “Ahhh I’m OK.”
I noticed guys notice her on the train—
Everyone is quiet there. Maybe insane,
But commuting, texting. That’s just the way.
So there wasn’t a word between her and me.
I’m trained. I’m a good member of society.
But you know how I am. I analyzed the ‘nothing’ text,
And realized it was ripe with meaning.
“Oh well, I guess I’m alright” is the normal meaning.
But here’s what I think it meant:
“Ahhh” was a scream. Ahhh! No, I’m not okay!
“I’m okay” was a lie, or perhaps, she’s divided:
Part screaming, part okay.
Or—and this is probably crazy: I sighed
Aloud before she wrote it. What if the “Ahhh”
Were really a sigh, unconsciously
In response to me,
Ahhh I’m okay,
And she was “okay” with my company?
But then who am I?
Walking off in my stupid coat to either write a poem, or die?
Maybe I’m a woman, afraid the idea of a man has died,
The guy I’m afraid to be, the guy people see on the outside?
There is a woman inside a man—
And for the sake of her inside me,
I protect her from foul, male lust—
Which isn’t foul;
Really, it’s not. It only matters what you allow.
I didn’t sit next to her because I had a plan.
Experience is a layered poem. And that’s who I am.