Friday, September 6, 2013

Poetry Jam - Who Is Cool

Good evening,

 I'm working on something bigger for this month, but in the interim I ask that you enjoy the first Poetry Jam I've written in ages. This was going to be a different kind of post, but I was at a poetry slam at the Drake Hotel last weekend and it inspired me to re-write it significantly.

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I wish I could be cool.

I wish I could go up to girls fearlessly, saying “Hey, baby, Ride The Rocket!” The truth is, this train hasn’t seen many stations. See, my ego’s like a gun: I forget to cock it, and the bullets always hit unintended locations. Now, I’ve been loved! I’ve been with those of the female persuasion, but I always seem to date anywhere from too many to not enough Asians. So to my friends, I’m “one of those guys” and though I’d kill to be between Gianna Michaels' thighs, it makes no difference in their eyes. But, I will survive.

But imagine if I took a chance and hit the club looking for love! Or at least someone who wouldn’t reel at the first glance of me, who wouldn’t put on gloves just to shove me away. Especially if they saw how I dance, because cool guys move with style and finesse and I move like there’s eels in my pants. One sight makes everyone guess which side I’m on when I play chess.

I also wish I could enjoy alcohol, so ladies don’t think I’m a creep. They must think that I smell bicycle seats and that I’m sober all night because I’m waiting for them to sleep, so I can rub their teats and lick their feet, taking photos of their butts and posting them as tweets. Because cool guys drink! I think. Vodka, rum, wine, and bourbon, held neatly in the glasses of slick dudes regaling us with what they’ve done. Winning passes, kicking asses, cooking classes!

I can’t be cool, though. That requires me to delve into uncomfortable territories. Like sports! I first heard Matt Sundine’s name in 2012. And I’m not a daredevil, so there go interesting stories. And speaking of stories, everyone’s got one! I’ve got some, but it’s not enough. Nobody wants to hear about some middle class white kid who never had to get tough or get rough when the world tried to snuff him out. Walk into any room, and you’ve got tales of broken homes and broken bones, overcoming certain doom and facing the great unknown. “What’d you do?!” they ask! “Er, stay in and watched ‘Home Alone.’

“…Again.”

So if I can’t be cool, what can I do?! Say “Screw You” to the male convention and implement a style of my own invention? Even that’s been done before, and I’ll be damned if I become another bore, hanging out at the corner store with anti-conformists galore, listening to Lana Del Rey forevermore. I haven’t a clue. But I won’t sit here feeling blue in a world where every man has to be James Bond! So, I’ll be Q.


Because Q’s the coolest guy you could find! Never been out in the field, but fights a million battles in his mind! Inventor, creator, artist, innovator! Ever need a pen that could become a respirator? Holla at your boy with the one-letter name if you want a briefcase that folds out into a plane! I’ll be the mad scientist, my mind as my greatest tool. Why shuffle through bars like some common ghoul pretending to be good at pool when I could hone my mind and take y’all to school? So that’ll be me! A scandal that’s unfolding, and that picture that you’re holding of someone who is cool.

***

See you next time,

RWI

P.S. Made a slight edit!

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