Testosterone-Deficient Blues

One of my favorites and most-requested. Some day it will be set to music.

Oh man, oh man
Every day’s the same
Not a one to be seen
They don’t even know my name

These are the testosterone blues
(sing it, sistah)
of a wisely innocent chick
who’s almost got it all—
minus her soulful romantic

Listenin’ to sappy love songs,
wistful for the day
when my knight with big strong arms
holds my hand without delay

One just caught my eye who
loves music, to travel and run
True mushroom—you know, a “fun guy”
Sense of humor and charitable bar none

He’s kind and bright
and boy, is he cute
A perfect match, right?
Except that now I’m a mute!

Why do I get this way?
It’s such an irony
that when I have no interest
it’s easiest to be me

Am I defective?
Or are his eyes veiled?
Is this how I have to live?
Have I somehow failed?

I don’t pretend to have any answers.
Well, okay, I’ll pretend.
I could say, “boys are dumb”
And hold “I hate men weeks”
(but never hold men)

These are the testosterone blues
of a wisely innocent chick
who’s almost got it all—
minus her soulful romantic

Mom says I have to flirt—
bat my eyes,
lower my head
act sly and coy
while my cheeks blush red

But it just ain’t natural
Ya know what I mean?
Pretending to be some game-playing queen

Instead I’m tongue-tied
Scared out of my wits
Feeling queasy awkward
and stuttering like a ditz

Some day it will happen
My dreams will come true
I’ll talk to that hunk of mine
And he’ll get a clue

My love won’t be thwarted
It will blossom and grow
We’ll be open and share
till we can’t talk no mo’

When that special day comes
I’ll be having fun still making friends
Much patience I’ll have learned

and I’ll be wearing Depends.

April Murdock
8.13.02 / 11.18.03

Leaving

I feel the sadness welling up inside of me, slowly building and looming in my heart.
Heavy, deep, blue, I don’t know how else to describe it.
I want to feel the sting, endure the ache, to taste the salt.
Waiting for the geyser, still there is no release.
Why isn’t there an emotional button that says PUSH ME and I can just cry?

I’m living in a dream—
Excited for the morning, but not yet ready to face the sun.
Although I’m still here, I miss it already:
The people, though they surround me;
The places, though still I pass by them.
Regrets of friendships not cultivated, gratitude unexpressed,
Lost chances to build more memories and prolong moments that won’t come again.

But it needn’t end now, for with each ending comes a new beginning.
Pieces of my heart I leave behind, but they aren’t forgotten.
Nor is my heart flawed or incomplete with these holes,
But is has grown, expanded, and will be filled as I share more.
I’m filled with sadness, yet surrounded by love.
Grateful for the chance to lose and live, to feel and be filled,
Grateful for paradoxical feelings.

April Murdock
8.2003

True Love

Now this is love—
Security, warmth, comfort, rejuvenation
The utmost in charity,
It takes my time but returns so much more,
With no suggestion of disparity.
Like a toothbrush, it is only mine.
No need to share it, and I feel just fine.

Reliable when I’m sick.
Respite from my trials, escape from all my woes.
It envelops me, wraps its pure white arms around me,
Inspires me to climb higher to an island in the midst of chaos.

Take it at face value, exactly what it seems.
Doesn’t need to impress anyone or put on haughty airs.
Just relax my weary muscles and shelter all my dreams
While I kick off my shoes and drop my heavy cares.

I cry on its shoulder, bury my face in its tender arm.
Sometimes in anger I scream at its face
But undaunted, forgiving, it hears out my case.

Inviting, enticing, so hard to pull away
When the short moment of night ends and thus begins a new day.
Parting is grueling when I leave on a journey.
Anxious for our reunion, for my love I have been yearning.
Nothing has changed, no matter how long the separation
I come home to all that I’ve hoped for, dreamed of and wanted—
Ah, yes, my own, glorious bed!

To some this may be pathetic—
A shameless display of affection for an inanimate object,
Incapable of returning to me in eloquent rhetoric.
But I hold my case as one that will persist through time,
For even when I share it, my bed will be more sublime.

April Murdock
2.9.03