Many Rooms of Waiting

waiting with the other hopefuls of a chance
they take me in room by room
each option flawed
some rooms I dwell longer than the others
if the scent moves me, i stay
the scent above everything has to be right.
i turn my little nose up at those subpar.
in some rooms i dance
in others i stand perfectly still like a doll
in some i drink and shout above loud music
in even more still, i talk politics and sexual liberation
in my favorites, i go on and on about family and home
in private, dimly lit rooms I admit future planned delight for children
only in the most inviting do i bring up the past, and only when prompted
in none of them do I forget I am a lady
though the ones with drinking are more crass than the rest
i'm consistently sharp tongued, unless my interviewer is an idiot
i dont want to be intimidating in these tiny stalls for decisions
i exhaust my charmes, wiles and wit on each and every worthy chap
for there are never ladies in these rooms, which mama should be proud
and daddy would likely only have an approval rating of less than 5%
for sure there are rooms that will always remain in the back
and on the door of every now locked chamber, notes, prose, scribbled
in ink, mascara, tomato sauce, blood, lipstick or marker
notes of what's inside, what to take away, what to leave, and similarities
my candle has not faltered and i will carry on this exercise until i am free
free of rooms, decisions, hopeful first meetings and awkward glances.
someday. someday. someday. a room will forever remain unlocked without any notes provided. someday. someday. someday.