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There’s something erotic about sitting alone in a coffee shop.

Ella Fitzgerald blazes the speakers; she’s one of them silent steamers that boils in the background. She could burn the whole house down if people
just paid attention.
I walk in
and immediately spot an empty seat by the window
grab a Grande Passion Tea, no sugar, and sit down.
Girl, sitting directly across from me
sits sideways, ankles to back side with her Macintosh laptop
in her lap. (Seems to be working on a school project.)
At about 2 o’clock, sits a young Asian couple at a table
(boy, girl) and this girl has the softest face that I think it’s all
I’ll remember her for.

Then she smiles.

I fall back to a previous conversation with my man tellin’ me how
he loves me for my smile. And he only says this when I’m mad at him so I
don’t believe him.

Instead, I wonder what makes my smile any different from any other; isn’t a
smile itself
enough to strike a lightning bolt of happiness?
I go back to the couple who seem to be sharing jokes like they’ve known each other since high school.
I compare myself to this girl and take in how if I had those
sexy-ass leather ankle boots,
then maybe I’d feel sexier ’round my man.
But shit gets real.

I watch her rip a dry piece of a used napkin and dab the bottom of her eye.
I’m watching a breakup at Starbucks and I only paid
$1.89 for tea!
Salt liquefies itself and rolls down her milky face
This carton of love turns sour as thick milkshake smiles drip
down the drain… slowly.
He gets up and leaves her with mascara stained eyes
and like an unsatisfied survivor
I return to the last memory of my first breakup.

I knew nothing about loving you and used
it all against you
like a recipe for disaster I created a monster out of you.
I lied
I cheated
I took advantage of you
Then you got caught up and began to betray me too.
Now the thought of you stings-
so I stopped thinking.
I mean, I ain’t attached to you if anything, you’re attached to me.
Clung.
Clung, like static clinging to skirts and collared shirts
Like toilet paper at the bottom of a shoe
walking out from the bathroom at a bar and nobody’s kind enough
to tell me!
So I keep on dancing, minding my own business and in the back
of everybody else’s mind, they laughing.
Baby, I was a fool.

You’re still attached to me the way eyebrows raise during
a forced inhale-
If only you would let me go.
I need you to stop following me home and finding me
in between the lyrics of love songs
I need you to forget me.
Let me go, now. Please.

So that I can get up
and move on from where you left me.

Britta B.

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2 Comments

  1. Jezus Ayche Kryst. I loved this! You most definitely have a gift. You painted pictures in my mind’s eye that remain. I love your writing. I do.

    Example: “Salt liquefies itself and rolls down her milky face.”

    So descriptive. perfect.

    • me love it when you comment!!
      It really means a lot.. no lie. I look up to you as a fellow writer and lover of language. I’m happy to share this visual moment with you 🙂


One Trackback/Pingback

  1. […] This post was mentioned on Twitter by Khalilah and red sea splitter., Dope Poets Society. Dope Poets Society said: [new post] Spoken Word: Shaken, not stirred http://bit.ly/aLBGhZ by @missbrittab […]

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