Memoirs of Royalty
I'm back.... ??? [A poem]
On a Monday
I have to wake up in three or so hours
I just read websites to get bored
And got inspired instead
I am on two painkillers
I wish I was drinking
They laughed at me this weekend
For walking with a cane
Certain people laughing made me laugh
(You can often take a joke from your friends)
Other people laughing only served to make me cry
On the inside, of course.
A friend told some others,
"We were slowed down 'cause he's on the cane"
I asked which 'cane he was referring to
Then we laughed
Some didn't laugh as openly as us
Then we wondered
I just realized
It's 6 months later
And lately my spirit has fallen like the towers
The saviors of the skyline
They left us
My heart screams out "911!"
But emergency services doesn't heed my call
I'm writing in this way 'cause I was inspired
Consider this a trial
Only I don't think this is MY style
Just a style for someone else
But I'll give it the good old college try
Hell, maybe it IS my style
It just needs honing
What the hell is the good old college try
I gave college the good old college try
And it still sucks
It seems highly indicative of some people here
Is it the same elsewhere
I think TV is going to be my religion now
If not, then all pop culture
"From the 80's, 90's, and today!"
I would pray to St. Elsewhere
But I haven't decided what I would say
Most people pray FOR things when they pray
Usually selfish things
Sometimes of a severe magntitude though,
And that is understandable
But how in G-d's name can you ask for a car
or some money
or a snow day
or a liver
To a Saint named "Elsewhere"
But that Saint is definitely my kind of saint.
Kind of like "The Doctor is OUT" signs
"The Saint is Elsewhere"
He's not listening to YOU
So I think I would pray to St. Elsewhere
And do two prayers a night
One would ask for menial or ridiculuous things
Like Heather Locklear in my bedroom
With Ice Cream
And legal drugs
And to have her singing a song written by Sting
The second prayer
Which would be offered first
Although it only seems like begging for the other
Would be just to chill with St. Elsewhere
Let him know what's going on in my world
Letting him know that if he ever wants to tell me what's
going on in his world
That I'd be game to listen and offer advice at any time
I do that quite well
I expect others to listen to me
Here they don't
They put up the usual banter of empty, hollow friendship
So they prove to themselves that they care
That they are good friends
And then they stop talking and it only serves to further
But from St. Elsewhere, I don't mind if he doesn't listen
'Cause I knew full well what I was getting into before I
You think there is also a St. Nowhere?
And if so, can David Byrne tell me how to find him?
I'll come along for the ride
I remember days when nights seemed to not be this way
I only remember them occurring during summer
Like this past summer
When usually I would drink the nights away
And was the ultimate survivor.
The next day too.
I miss summer
And the people I know
And the people I met
And the people I met long ago
Ages ago, over a decade ago, and through 'til this coming
When summers will change forever
I will be a grown up after the summer of 2002
I will be forced to live a different life
Where summers don't mean shit
'Cause you don't escape
Will my nights be any easier in the Fall of 2002?
How about compared to all the Falls before it?
I miss my summers.
One more to go...
It's so far away.
I miss sex.
More importantly, I miss companionship.
There is only so much companionship you can get from
Playboy and your palm.
I wish I looked my best.
Like in summers.
When I am tan and blonde and fit
And am slightly (yet humbly) revered.
I am a babygod...all year round that is
But the best of it comes out in summer.
I wish I had confidence
Like I do in summer.
I wish I could get the girl(s).
Like I do in summer.
Like they do in the movies.
Physical magnetics dictate my course here
But also mean nothing
And it toys with me
My eyes bounce from girl to girl to girl to girl
But that's all it leads me
Unless I get confidence tricked into me somehow
And I make that move
And then get laughed at
Similar to how they laughed at me this weekend
For walking with a cane
But it's evil people that know how to live
In summer, I know how to live
Does that make me evil?
Very much so, yes indeed.
And you know this(,) man.
And sometimes, they call me gay.
For no reason,
Just a joke.
But it hurts.
It's not right to be construed as gay,
Unless you are.
Sometimes even not then,
Which is sad.
It hurts your chances with the ladies.
Yet the one who keeps coming with this joke,
There used to be a physical attraction,
Which made it weird for me when she got naked in my
What is the proper reaction?
Keep looking as you talk to her?
Look her in the eye?
Look her up and down?
Cover your eyes?
Now I've had opportunity to do them all
If I had pulled out my cock, limp or not,
Would it settled the discrepency over whether I was gay?
Like with tootsie rolls, the world may never know.
So I have been very successful in being drug-free
Except my liver (and brain cells) aren't too happy about it
(I think they're secretly plotting a rebellion)
I have stayed away from drugs
Primarily by staying away from people who do drugs
Which isn't a testament to my lack of resolve
But a testament to the lengths I will travel
I do not speak to certain kids anymore
It doesn't make me cry
But I begin to think
And thinking often makes me sad
And I do not like being ignored
So when people put in no effort to see me,
I will be rash, and cut them off.
Simple as that.
But it's not.
I keep wanting to go back.
But not necessarily anymore.
The imminent countdown makes it seem so futile.
And I don't want to return to THOSE old ways.
Give me the days of fifth grade.
That is the last year I can remember having it all, all
Although that's not true.
Even then I was hated
By a select few
It is a humbling and saddening feeling when a young man
For no reason, he now has an enemy
His security is in check
His self-esteem is in check
His friendships are in check
I think more people probably hate me now than back then
Even proportionately to the amount of people I've met
Some people I make hate me, others find their own reasons
Which is wrong.
I try not to hate without reason.
Usually my reason is that someone hates me,
Otherwise I just try to be very blah towards that person.
I'm good at being blah in public.
In the privacy of my mind, we have different stories.
But for the time being,
I consider myself relatively sane
(Although you may tend to disagree,
Especially having written this at 4:30 in the morning
On a Monday
And now including a "you" into the "discussion")
(I knew this wasn't my style.)
But I seem to be running with it, don't I?
I desperately try to cling to the poetics
So that this doesn't begin to trickle into reality
And this merely becomes a diary of sorts
I don't do diaries
They are stupid
I do poems
I do lyrics
I do everything
"Everything" was a very slow word to type
It is, obviously, a lie,
And also comes off as arrogant
Which, in writings, I have been known to be,
And claim not to be in real life.
And real life makes it easy to make that claim
Because real life beats me everyday
Makes me submissive
There are haves and have-nots.
I am a have-some.
Right now I have five weeks of dirty laundry
And am physically unable to do it
Right now I have a paper that is two weeks overdue
And am mentally unable to do it
Right now I wish Van Halen were here.
Sometimes I think I am getting into poetry for the wrong
But those reasons are only in discord because the old
Were established well before the creation of modern society
Poetry has the ability to equal money these days
And why can't all people be paid for any skill?
That is what we are taught
Money for skills
I just hope the expert booger-eater isn't waiting for the
15th of the month.
Maybe he should go on tour?
Mountain Dew is the enemy for the insomniac
To us, it is like Everest
But, that was all there was to drink,
So I am drinking it.
Maybe tomorrow I can take vivarin and Jolt before bedtime.
But, for the sake of effort,
I will attempt to stray from the magnetism that the screen
has over me
It didn't seem to turn out being very poetic
But I'm sure tomorrow
I will sort through this minor insanity
And find some sort of redeeming poetry within it
In the meantime, I must pretend to sleep
So that tomorrow,
I can go to my job at 8:30 or 9,
And then the classes I barely attend,
Even though I know I pay no attention anyway
I just hope I don't fall asleep in class
Because that would be semi-embarassing.
On a Monday.
I have to get up in three hours.
I practically doesn't pay too.
Although, it doesn't seem to be prudent to sleep at all.
Sleep always wins...
Except for when you're wide awake at 4:45am
On a Monday
That is when the sun comes to kick your ass into a vampiric
That is usually reserved for weekends, and white and blue
Know nothing about.
My white and blue collars are all dirty.
I need to sleep.
I need to wake.
That is how the process works,
So at the least I will fake it.
Tomorrow is another day
But tomorrow IS today
And today already begins to look bleak.
But in the daytime, at least people don't laugh at you.
They reserve that for night.
In the daytime it is pity,
And I will take pity any day
Pity gets you things,
Sometimes pity gets you lots of things.
Sometimes pity makes you mad.
And sometimes the lightbulb bursts
While you're taking a shit in the middle of the night
At those times, you have to fucking deal with it.
And that is what we shall do,
And so on
And so on
We will fucking deal with it.
Just as IT fucking deals with us.
Good night, good luck, good journey
Don't forget to pack your toothbrush.
[(Even though I hardly use mine.)]