last in line: a poem

 

I want to be in love.

The corny love. 

My man, my man, my man.

I want to be that proud.

I guess I still have to work on me.

Not sure if I am the

imperfectly,

perfect package. 

I know that I am still a work in progress.

***

I will stay on prompt though.

I am in a long queue,

possibly a factory line.

I think I just arrived here,

I see the words "step 1".

Must mean I need to be cleaned,

thoroughly washed

from my previous season.

I just hope the water isn't 

too cold. 

***

Step 2.

I've got to get my mind right.

Unlearn what I thought 

I saw

growing up.

A loving family,

with wonderful parents 

who managed being

Nigerian

on American soil.

Step 2 will take longer than I thought.

I will get used to constantly

being buried

beneath the books.

***

Step 3.

Perfume & oils.

Beauty.

"Enhancing what you've got."

Not too much foundation,

and the perfect amount 

of lipstick.

There.

Its enough to be desired,

not sure if its enough to be loved. 

We shall see.

***

Step 4.

Whoa.

There's a lot of people here,

not sure where I should be.

Perhaps

last in line?

I'll join the queue there.

Nametag?

Dr. Gummy Bear,

I think that's fair.

***

Step 5.

Not there yet,

the conveyor belt is 

still moving

and there is no one behind me.

I guess the best is saved 

for last. 

Can't complain.

I will still give it 

my all.

***