Mariah

My name is Mariah.

I like music but

Not the way everyone else says they like it

As a hobby or something they listen to

While on a jog or cleaning their room

Music is all I’ve got, my forty-seven stringed

Massive giant of an instrument, looming in ebony beauty

Towering over the tallest of men yet

Angelic, somehow. My harp.

Music is all I’ve got, my father rich and my mother—

Well, she’s a woman, all right, my mother.

The hippie elementary school art teacher married

The electrical engineer businessman.

Opposites attract, they say, but

Where does that leave me?

Somewhere in between, I suppose

With music and words. Words and music

And music and words. I play my piano like

I play with words, rearranging the notes

In my head while the words pour out of me

And onto my laptop, my fingers uncontrollable

Leaving no time for edits, no time for artistic

Decisions. Ah, decisions.

Dear Mickey, I type, my thoughts pouring out of me

Into my laptop, my laptop named Mickey Mac.

Password protected, noone will know but Mickey

The thoughts of this lonely American

Noone will ever know. Even when I’m dead and

Gone. Mickey will always keep my secrets.

I like that.

If only our hearts could be password protected.

G’day, nice to meet you; you’re tall, and handsome.

Smart, witty, and oh, you like to dance?

A romantic, the candles in an intimate restaurant

Illuminate his kind eyes and his mouth

As he utters the words that every woman wants to hear.

Excuse me, I’m sorry, but hold the phone.

Before you proceed—the password, please?