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| Untitled by Chelìn Sanjuan |
Sister,
you can't have 'em all.
You can't have
John's eyes and
Brian's thighs and
Alton's Saturday night
heaves and sighs and
Allen's father's and
family and nem money and
Lance's street charm
Frankensteined into your
one puzzle pieced
reality.
You can't have
Cameron's college background and
Mike's bulging arms and
Nathaniel's quick wit
mixed in with a bit of your
African man's cultural
rootedness.
You can't have
your cell phone
contacts
organized in order of importance
for
who wins
by degrees of
melanin.
You can't
mix and match
your
rolodex cards
according
to your moods.
You can't call
manufacturing a man
out of
used goods
you doing you.
You can't steal
some other woman's
married Oliver
to
spice up your
downtime.
You can't borrow
some woman's son
name Wookie
to make you feel
important.
You can't
run around town
picking up
bourbon-influenced
lawyer types and
businessmen to
collect your copy
of their Mastercards.
You can't
keep on
rocking that slit
up your thigh and
wearing your lacefront
wigs
like pimp hats
all over the universe,
leaving a comet tail of
broken and used goods
all over the place.
You can't keep on
using your
star shine to
snuff it out
on your whim
to darken
some unsuspecting man's
night
sky.
You can't keep
excusing your
"I am woman,
hear me roar"
whoredness
with
"Men do it.
So can I."
You can't do it,
because honey chile...
Honey chile...
listen...
No matter what.
You can't have 'em all.
You can only KEEP,
KEEP KEEP
one,
whatever his package.
You ain't no scientist and
this ain't no lab.
You can only keep one.
-T. D. O. Timothy
