Poem: "Willfully Distracted"

it’s August on some Saturday afternoon

with no plans this time around

and I’m lying in my sheets

alone in my apartment

awake, for the most

part of my routine

in an attempt to

savor the solo

stage of my

life I chose

for myself.

Alina Baraz

sings softly in

the background

and I glide from room

to room, thought to thought

vulnerable to any urge or whim.

I glaze my eyes over old texts from

men who disinterest me and men who

patiently await a response as I do theirs

skipping over “good morning” pleasantries

and getting right to realizing pleasant dreams

the corner store deli/bodega has my meal ready

before I ever bother to call up for something

different, but even they know me quite well

enough to know my choice of breakfast

seems to never change these days.

It’s a beautiful moment I consider

as one of the few things I have

that’s truly kept in a sensible

order of things that remain

constant throughout all

of these intentionally

crafted chaoses

that I manifest

and bravely

encounter.

the sun

is all ablaze

phone abuzz

and it is way too

goddamned hot and

humid to convince me to

come outside for brunch when

I’m still here eating my breakfast

and honestly darling, I am still spent

from last week’s erotic antics you still

insist on repeating with me as if I’d want

to see a movie (I just saw) “for real this time”

“no, I’m good luv, enjoy” I respond back quickly

nipped in the bud, avoiding yet another viable

source of bad stories to share with all of my

friends that I’ve grown to love and admire

to a point where I’d rather be my friends’

best man at a wedding than to wear a

clown wig searching for the best man

in a deck of men with palliative bios

that consecrate their toxic attitude

and spew venom that honestly

sucks the soul out in ways

one would prefer not

to have done

in the first

place.

[sigh]

whatever.

in the long run

I’ll be all about work

but I cannot deny that

I’d willingly, repeatedly

set this mental stage rife

chock-full with possibilities

of cute shit like holding hands

and crescendos of rising intimacy

me smiling at you and you smiling at me

entangled with this mystery man meeting

this mystery me, cause’ who knows what I’ll

be like the moment you finally lay eyes on me

but whenever that is, just keep in mind that I’ve

been keeping all this shit to myself, guaranteed.

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inspired by Saturday afternoons with no plans.

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