Your love is a lot like a butterfly
If butterflies had sharp teeth
Your love is a lot like a rose
If roses were filled with hate
Your love is a lot like a tattoo
If the tattoo was not “I heart mom” but DIE
Your love is a lot like a sailor
If all sailors were dirty and filthy
Your love is a lot like a burrito
If burritos were not filled with cheesy goodness
Your love is a lot like my love
If my love were non-existent
i don’t know where this is going
i only know there this begins
welcome to a world stand still
where the nappy dugout the happiest place on earth
never come alone never leave early
bring a friend and stay as long as you like
maybe thats true maybe its just make believe
maybe i’m amazed and maybe i’m alone
either way its a jungle out there
—-this was about twenty seconds of non-stop typing, free verse, free thought, chaos of the mind—-
What does it all mean?
What is the translation?
i dont know where this is going (This was my introductory excuse for this verse not being any good)
i only know there this begins (I was going to title this “Welcome to the jungle” but made a quick change to nappy dugout for whatever reason)
welcome to a world stand still (Not sure what this means)
where the nappy dugout the happiest place on earth (Had to reference the title. Nappy is happy)
never come alone never leave early (Words to live by for the party lifestyle)
bring a friend and stay as long as you like (At the party or at the happiest place on earth?)
maybe thats true maybe its just make believe (Maybe it Mabelline)
maybe i’m amazed and maybe i’m alone (both!)
either way its a jungle out there (true-and its a nappy jungle)
What I have realized is I am not a poet. I just have weird thoughts that travel from my head to my fingers. I amuse me. Can I be my own muse? Do I amuse you?
I heart myself today
to see if I still feel
what have I become
my sweetest friend
hair
eyes
pair
cries
eyes
red
hair
green
one shoe from two feet
missing and lost
the story remains
Thursday September 6: From my home here in Winfield, NJ, I wonder about my 10 year high school reunion. I can’t believe that I am actually going back to Freemont High school in Sunnyvale California to be with the class of 1991.
Really, did I even go to high school? Those four years went by so fast, but yet those were the longest years of my life. I walked through those halls like I was invisible, only speaking when spoken to, particpating only when necessary. School became a source of education not a source of entertainment. Was I the only one who existed at a level of non-existance?
Entering the first year of high school was supposed to be the highlight of my early years. Everyone walking the halls had their Levi Stonewashed jeans pegged at the ankles. As I walked the halls, I stared at my ankles. Not because I had my pant legs pegged like everyone else, but because I had no desire to look up, just to not be noticed. As Bon Jovi warned about Bad Medicine, I was more concerned about fighting for my right to party. Although the parties that I was fighting for were parties of one and there was no Brass Monkey. Football games, dances, bonfires, and other gatherings passed me by without an invitation. Why would I expect an invitation, when they didn’t even know my name? It’s not like we didn’t have anything in common. Hey, I liked “Alf” too. I wish I could say that I was doing something better that was more exciting than these parties, but I wasn’t. I didn’t go out stealing, or drinking, or torturing animals, I lived in my own little world of nothingness.
The back of the bus reserved for the cool and the pretty was not where I sat, as I rode the school transportation. I sat up front with the kids who were a couple of drools away from being on the short bus with tinted windows. I can recall one incident where I was almost acknowledged by one of the cool kids. “Hey retart, why you sitting up front with the drool school?” I was about to respond with “I don’t know.” when I realized that he was not talking to me. He was talking to his buddy who was sitting behind me. This jock was only sitting up front because he broke his leg during a football game and he could not manuever his crutches too far down the bus aisle. How I wish that they were talking to me. Even if the words were mean spirited, I would have welcomed the attention.
Gym class was even worse. No kid wants to be the last one picked for dodge ball, but try being the kid that is not even chosen. “You can take him”, was always said by the stronger teams (I was always “him”). I just stood there waiting to be put out of the game. My invisibility must have failed during dodge ball. Thankfully, I was always the first one out. Being the first one out had its advantages. I was the first one to hit the showers.
Trust me, I never really showered, I just wet my hair and changed my clothes. I probably could have showered without even being noticed, but why risk it? I didn’t break a sweat, so I didn’t smell. I had no use for mouse or gel or even a hairbrush for that matter. I just let it go, whatever my hair looked like in the morning was what it looked like all day. I slept in my clothes; sometimes wearing the same t shirt from the day before. Scared, yet anticipating someone noticing my day old clothes. It never happened. Same shirt, different day.
My invisibility was not just a phase. When I looked in the mirror, I barely saw my reflection while others only see their perfection.
That first year was difficult for all, just because it was the first year. With the theory that everyone struggles with their identity in the first year of high school, I was temporaily encouraged and excited about the next year. That encouragement lasted long enough for me to walk into that door with my pants pegged. I obviously did not get the memo over the summer informing me that pegging your pants was so…last year.
Years two, three and four were just as bad as year one. Rinse and repeat. Since I didn’t take showers at school, there really wasn’t much rinse, just alot of repeat.
It’s a wonder that I didn’t blow my brains out or do something worse like taking my aggressions out on my classmates. In the age of school violence, I could have easily been one of the trench coat wearing, post mortem attention seeking loner with a grudge.
Someone or something was responsible for guiding and molding me into who I am today. Teenage boys do not become assets to society without guidance of some sort. As a nameless face in a group of 1,200 individuals, how did I make it to this level? After 10 years of living life, it is time to go back to that place that I never fit in.
But why would I submit myself to the humiliation of returning to that lonesome, hateful building? By attending the reunion, I will find the individual who affected me more than I ever knew. I need to find that person. How did I get touched without feeling a thing?
10 Years ago was…like…so…10 years ago. Class of 1991 Reunion, here I come.
My flight is Tuesday at 8:00 AM from Newark to San Fransisco. I sure hope United doesn’t lose my bags…again.
…to be continued on September 15, 2001.
