The Bourgie Train-riding hood girl's dilemma

I want a code-switcher

a brunch-going hood-dweller.

I want it all.

I want a wide wrap-around porch, 

built-in bookshelves and community

love in the midst of the grimy and gully.

I want someone who will kayak and 

camp with me

work a room like nobody's business

and stroll the streets with the smarts

that only come from living, learning,

knowing out of necessity.

I want the one who loves tats and 

pits

who would look just as at home in

a scraper as a BMW.

I want the one who knows the 

ice cream truck sells other things

and knows how to open the hydrant

for the kids (and the free carwash).

I want the one who loves museums 

and reads ravenously.

I want the one who flosses teeth

meticulously and loves Cheese Doodles.

Who drinks mint tea and meditates

and knows that Duct tape and

WD-40 can fix it all.

The one who can dance merengue,

shake it like no one's watching

and identify the subtle undertones in

a glass of rich red wine.

Because I know a few of us, I tend to think we're more common than we are.  There's no escaping the fact that I'm on the bourgie train. Or that I come from where I come from. So many things.