I am a word-nerd, which is something I have always kept hidden from others. In other words, I was a closeted "word nerd" and enjoyed my books in private. (Shhh, don't tell my friends!) However, there are very few ways to continue being all incognito about enjoying all different types of literature and words after becoming a journalist and overall writer.

If you have ever read the poem "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock," which so happens to be one of my favorite texts, then I am sure you are also aware of the substance it holds. It is written from a man's perspective, and expresses his a million and one experiences and perspectives of love, and voices his insecurities about finding a significant other.

I decided to re-write the poem from a woman's perspective while keeping the same tone as the original.

A Letter from J. Alfred Prufrock's Daughter

The sugar drops you composed,

Fell onto the tongues of my ears,

And from within my body I heard my soul swoon.

The sugar drops you composed,

The soft-tuned whispers that tickled the hairs of my neck,

Mixed with your honey-rose smelling breath

Fell into the abyss of my stomach

Awakening a fluttering from within.

The others enter and leave all the time, forgotten memories that leave within five seconds time. Why are you still on my mind?

It was the sweet-smelling room

Producer of velvet-smooth linger moods.

Accompanied by the words arising from the pillows

Music having never graced my jaded mind.

The juxtaposition of psychology and a moment's time at one

Made me lose the train of thought

Reminding me I am Drunken queen

Looking after those at the bars until morn

Reminding me I am Erotic-Exotic Queen

Enticing until experienced and then seen through uninterested eyes.

The eyes you gave me made me lose these trains of thought,

As your soul-pools reflected something different: focus

Focused on me.

The others enter and leave all the time, forgotten memories that leave within five seconds time. Why are you still on my mind?

The July night more than hot but represented the inferno itself

Consuming the laughs, the words, the stares, and psychological-emotional advances

Edging it's flames around us

Encircling us closer, closer, and closer

Entrapping us

Enrapturing us

The pins within the room heard dropping

Heard from all angles of the universe.

They continued to drop, past the morn.

The others enter and leave all the time, forgotten memories that leave within five seconds time. Why are you still on my mind?

The days have led unanointed knights to my doorstep

The doorstep acquaintance of many feet

Only in disguise are acquaintances made

As beggars

At times wardrobed as the prince newly transformed after receiving it's kiss

Unlike the princess, my entirety has seen he has much remained a frog

Unpredictably they come dressed as the lover of Juliet, while serenading her beauty with that of the Sun and cursing the moon

Reminding me they speak of Juliet, casting away my charm

What are my elegancies that compare to that of Beloved Juliet?

What warmth should I expect to my heart turned cold?

The footsteps you traced in

After careful examination, I saw they were in perfect accord

A melody created followed by the harmony the second foot reciprocated

Your groomed nature

Uncostumed appearance with sincerity-filled sweet smiles

Caused a trembling knees and drowning in your arms

The drowning turned from confused indulgence

To sweet sorrow

The waves of foolishness

Absorbed me faster than the songs used by mermaids to tease young sailors.

Your laugh, ridicule of my perception of you

Stinging me like the salt-water mist obscuring a ship's portholes.

Final stances you took over me, stares you placed upon me

As if I were another one of them.

The women you mock and shame

The warm bodies that give you comfort during the darkest of midnights.

In the time of a sparrow's wing to catch air

You marked me as another one of those women, an inadequate tool

Your stampeding exit

Echoing the melody, followed by the harmony your second foot continuously reciprocated.

As a token of gratitude,

The coins spilled across the wooden stand,

Poured across the floor,

Some hiding in between stitches of the bed corners.

Your eyes projected momentarily.

The money enraged, burning through my palmed flesh

Airborne until they hit the arch of the windowpane and the glass.

My performance made a new, as your memory still does not fade.

The scarlet red-hues painted on my face to match my dress

Reminds me ever so of the soft-peach color I decided on,

How it unexpectedly caught your breath.

The new men, my new company,

Masked faces by the face I paint on them for ever-so-long.

The others enter and go all the time, forgotten memories that leave within five seconds time.

Why are you, he who so callously ripped my heart with tight-gripped fists,

He who dare take the title of "gentleman", only to give those who earned such a name a bad reputation,

He who paid me well only out of pity but not out of heartfelt appreciation,

Lingering, continuing, unfortunately, still on my mind?