the first thesis

Because all the world around me
wants me to be in love--

between all the songs that talk of love
whether it's "I am in love"
or "I lost my love"
or "I lost my dog and incidentally I'm in love"

whether it's "I hate love"
or "love makes you perfect"
all the songs are about love
somewhere within them.
Is love the only reason people write songs these days?

between all the songs that talk of love
and all the people who have been soothed
or hurt or both by love,
the new love affairs, the smug marrieds,
the clandestine affairs where one has to remember
who knows what and ask for all the negatives

because all the world wants me to be in love,
I cannot go through with it one more day.

It is such a pleasure to sing all the songs
as if you'd written them, as if the words
had been sliced into your soul.
As if the words mattered to you.
It is such a pleasure to long after love,
like picking a scab to feel the air on your skinned knee,
to look around and say, "why don't I have that?"
and "what's wrong with me?"

And especially, after finding someone, to settle
in with a sigh, saying, "yes, I am desired,
there is nothing wrong with me."

But I wonder, again, why?
Is the safety of thinking I'm wanted worth
the wrapping clutches of the world and its desires?

But I am stubborn.
If the world wants me to be in love,
to see me settled,
then I will resist.

Because the whole world wants me to be in love,
hates to see me dining out alone,
offers me pairs of tickets to the opera
and two seats on the roller coaster

I will celebrate my anniversaries of solitude,
revel in staying out late and coming home to comforting silence,
kiss girls on the lips but leave before
I have the chance to break their hearts--

I will drive cross-country with nothing but me
and my music and my voice and my thoughts to entertain me,
and the asphalt rolling out in front of me
blasting onwards towards home--

I will paint the kitchen purple and everything else green
because nobody will complain that the colors are too dark
and look, I've dripped paint on the counter--

Because until I find the person I want to love,
being in love is useless, and looking for it only
hides it like a black cat in a dark room.
While others pick apples and rush them to their sweethearts,
I will grin, take a bite, and walk away,
hoarding all the world for my own pleasure.

--11/7/01

I want to write about my fun day yesterday, but I need to go to bed, so it'll keep till tomorrow.

sleepy girl.

night.

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