24 Hours in San Diego...

New day, another plane, and I am early morning.
Traveling across time zones. My body will P.S. me later for that.
I am arriving to hills, alive, no music, unless you count my iPod.
Alittle airport with cute fixtures remind me of quaint moments I have had with loved ones.
He is BMW 5-series and I instantly miss Crimson. Black bones meet my red bone race car wind in our hair, harbor to the left of things, but I missed it.

He is big space cluttered in memories. I appreciate in inches but stay still. Just passing through. Don't want to mess up ANYTHING while I'm here. Be quiet. Sit quietly.
Their gas prices look like Austin's. This city reminds me of Austin, with a hint of San Antonio.
I am practicing when no one is home to hear me.

I am tourist in passenger. Sitting at tables that keep birds aggressively waiting to snack on your plate when you're not looking. They be border close, Mexican food like for real... Texas, welllll you're TEX-MEX... not the same.
He will comfort me about my outfit from Nats 2010. He had/has my back and I didn't even know it. I have decided to take away any theory that their are no more good men left... I mean, I know a lot more than a few anyway... He said I don't have to bare their weight, expectations. Don't have to hold that __________ for ALL WOMEN if I don't want too. It is my choice.
Again, I apologize if my outfit offended anyone. But in my defense, I thought I was cute... and my MOMA didn't mind!

I am back to dress, change clothes, and go. He looks at me like I did a complete 360. Nah, just a 180. Curled my hair and put on some Fashion Fair. You know, add the Princess to the Gully.

I see him in political views that make up his common sense. I like it. Happy he's more than a poet, but more importantly that he is an artist who is also a feminist.

We are crossing streets to dance studios little space to big space. I am anxious in heartbeats that no one can hear.
I am feet to the floor solid in movement. When did movement feel like breath. I am name called up to the mic. I am ready to spit. I am rehearsed, breaking rehearsed moves to say THANK YOU. I am BEAST. I am WOMAN. I am accepted and heard. I am visible, audible, and felt through goosebumps. I am finger snaps in my left ear... now my right. I am a good thing. I am fixed, vulnerable in this room. My heart surrounds the room. I am not big enough, but enough. I am almost sold out. They love Luv Sux.

I am content with this night, that moment.

We are Roberta's on the corner of the hood. Carne Asada (spelling?) I will not finish you but thank you for getting my eyes full. We are laughing at silly men and women and whenever love will not be admitted.
We are where she calls home. And I am comfortable. I am sleeping on Keo's pillow dreaming of women who make me happy with their strength. I am mind gone. Texting content. We are asleep in no time. Awake at 4am... the other she will come for me soon. And it is clear she has never met a stranger... or at least not in poets.

We are riding like the street lights are about to come on. Under the moon and over the beach. We are conversation and Pandora.
I am thank you for barely making it and making the drive to John Wayne O.C...
Dear John Wayne, I like San Diego's airport better.

I am separated by class... economic with my bare feet looking at first class. Somehow segregation is needed. I am waiting for an hour to board new flights-Standby . I am tired.
No, I'm like REALLY TIRED.

I am back to the seat.
Straight up.
Leaning,
with my camera... but asleep awaking Texas in a real way.

To San Diego, I will see you again soon. 24 hours was not enough.
To Brooklyn, I didn't cheat on you so stop actin all jealous!
lol