Ripe Papaya

I am waiting …
for the moment when the creative juices brewing in my womb gestate
to the point of maturity
dripping from my pussy
like a ripe papaya
ready to be born into this world

I’m waiting to be done waiting for delivery day
like watching paint dry
I’m waiting to feel ready
For the time to be right
As if it isn’t always

I’m waiting for the time when I’m not pushing,
prematurely itching to deliver before 40 weeks
with the fire of my impatience
burning from the inside

I’m already 30
and there’s so much love to make in this life
and I want to make the most of it every second!

I am waiting for the moment it just slips out of me
some creative project I can’t quite put my finger on
that will show me I am no longer hiding

I’m waiting for its ecstatic birth
after hitting the fetal eject button
and gushing out like a water slide

I’m not good at waiting
and I never have been
When there’s a line at the supermarket,
I look to my left and right to see if the register nearby is shorter
Or I reluctantly make the most of my wait by catching up on emails
When I see a long line for a buffet lunch,
I strike up a conversation on the side
or go for a walk
instead of waiting in that line

I hate waiting
There’s too much to do in this life for waiting
And yet, like the chocolate chip cooking baking in the oven,
every good thing has its gestation period.