Young Writers Society

april 15 - the whore in you

i guess i just don't get how
someone could be happily married
but still be a total whore.
yes, it's been many years since
i came home from the mission trip
and said that i thought it would be best
if we broke it off now
before it got too serious.
but sometimes,
i look back at the pictures on your profile,
just to see what you're up to,
but all you're up to
is being a camera whore.
the married life, to me,
seems to include much more than
taking hundreds of pictures of yourself
in ridiculous angles to make yourself "pretty",
then posting them on facebook so you can
fish for compliments and have total strangers
tell you how pretty you are.
i did that for six months,
before the creation of facebook,
before we were made aware of myspace,
and before anyone could easily put up pictures.
but we're over,
i know we're over,
but sometimes i just want to tell you that
you're still somewhere in my heart,
and even though it hurts me,
a part of me loves the whore in you.

april 16 - final final

one last final test,
and one last book to sell,
before i can be free from
this academic hell.

religion and foundations
and music theory II
have sucked the life right out of me,
and made me come unglued.

i don't know how i managed
to burn out quite so much,
but i know i'm just a blaze of glory
in among a bunch

of other first-year students
being overwhelmed
by all the opportunities
of what to make themselves.

next year i'll make a promise
to not spread out so thin,
and to have the power to say "no",
when i want to start again.

WARNING: some major cursing

april 17 - oh internet IV

oh internet!
what the fuck?
my three previous poems to you,
where i was upset with your coyness
but could never hate you enough to leave you,
were my way of saying,
"i appreciate you enough to
glorify you, even in my frustration."
but now this is just ridiculous.
you were literally working at
two-thirty in the morning,
and now you're down again,
and have been down all day.
there are no words
or strings of swears
i could conjure up
that can describe how pissed off i am at you.
seriously, knock it the fuck off.
it's fine if you don't want to work
when i should be studying for a test,
and honestly, i appreciate you looking out for me.
but finals are over,
and have the rest of the day to suffer through
without friends and without fun.
at the very least, come back when i'm
done packing to go on tour.
but knowing what a bitch you are,
you won't come back until monday,
when i'm on my way to Duluth
and have no need for you.
fuck you, internet,
you fat smelly pirate hooker,
i hope you die of every std on the planet
and burn in the 20th layer of Hell.

the following nine poems were written while I was on tour with the college choir

april 18 - bus rides

long lonely bus rides
with nothing to do except
stare out the window
wondering how much longer
i have to suffer through
cliques and groups
where i'm not sure if i
even fit in.
a long tour is ahead of me.

april 19 - tribute

here's a tribute to the senor class:
a rag-tag bunch of amateurs who
can go out of their way to
make us feel good about ourselves
and the world around us.
i've never known a finer bunch of
friends and mentors who have
helped me grow and develop as a
musician and a person.
thank you so much for being there,
sharing the fun,
and making us think.

april 20 - 420

weed, man.
weed.
dude, i'm so fucking high right now.
shit...

april 21 - hot tubbin

the steam rises up into the cold night air,
the jets massaging my back
like no person could.
for once on this tour,
i can relax with a beer
and contemplate life
without worrying about a person's
perception of me.

... wait ...
is that rain?
shit.
my relaxing night is cut short.
thanks weather.
dick.

funny story: i actually wrote this one drunk

april 22 - one more drink

the offers of beers are flowing
and i can't help but partake.
i don't want to be rude, you know.
i will accept offers that are given to me.
and I know my limits.
so just one more drink
just to partake of hospitality.

april 23 - be real

i'm sick of your bullshit,
how you can be one person with this group,
but totally different with another.
i'm sick of how your only in a relationship
only when it's convenient for you.
your constant mood swings to
get attention from others
can stop, because you're getting
the wrong attention.
your power trips with
lowly leadership positions
make you toolier
than the tooliest tool.
all i ask of the world is to be real:
real to yourself,
real to others,
real to the world.

the following poem is a true event, though not the full story. if you'd like the full story, PM me, and i will send you what i wrote up as part of a memoir i hope to have published.

april 24 - late night in Chicago

wandering around Chicago,
not sure where we are,
we get hit up for drugs
every step we take.
tired of walking,
we find a bus stop to sit at.
suddenly, a lady walks up,
hands me weed,
and demands pay.
we try to settle the situation,
but she won't have any of it.
everyone's yelling,
and threats of violence are thrown.
i don't want to die.
i throw $20 at her,
and another $11 for her efforts,
and we got the hell out of there.
we get back to the hotel,
and we get rid of it.
but where do we go from here?

april 25 - disappointed

i'm disappointed in you.
you could have made such a
better decision than you did.
you could have chosen to not drink,
to not go out and wander the city,
to stay out of that rough part,
to not be nice to people with drugs,
to keep your head level
and your wallet closed,
to forget you ever had it,
and shove it in your crackers
because you got spooked.

but you did a good thing by
telling the truth and fessing up.
we got rid of it without the police,
we took immediate action,
and because it's your first offense,
you'll get off light.

congrats for honesty,
but i'm still disappointed in you.

april 26 - learned my lesson

sitting in the back row of the church
of the final concert of the year.
i wish i could be up there with then,
singing my heart out to
my friends in Omnia Sol,
my faith in First Nowell,
my life in Give Me Jesus.
i made a stupid decision,
and now i can't sing tonight.
it's the worst feeling in the world,
watching someone sing the songs you love
without being able to sing along.
i fucked up, plain and simple,
and i literally died on the inside.
(i hope you learned your lesson)
i did for sure.
nothing hurts me more than sitting inactive in the back.
(you're a good kid)
any other day i'd believe you,
but right now, i know you're lying through your teeth.
(i know you'll never make that mistake again)
i know i won't, too.
the worst punishment is cutting me off
from my lifeblood.
(you're too good a kid to do that again)
i'm not a good kid,
this guilt will weigh down on me
forever and ever.
however, i know that i will be a better man
because of it.
(it had to happen, and you had to learn from it)
i could have done so much to prevent it,
and if i could change time,
i'd stay in that hotel and never leave.
(you don't need that shit)
i know i don't,
which is why i don't know what got into me.
i will never go out and screw up like that
ever again.
(i hope you learned your lesson)
i learned much more than that,
i learned about a new aspect of life that i
never would have known.
i've learned my potential,
i've learned to apply myself,
and i've learned that the world should watch out,
because i'm a new man with big plans.

april 27 - we get it

you're gay.
we get it.
you have a boyfriend.
we get it.
your dad was a Navy captain,
and you lived overseas for
most of your childhood,
we get it.
you think that no one understands you,
so you sulk off by yourself and pout.
we get it.
you gossip, whine, bitch, and complain
about everything and everyone,
we get it.

we get that you are better than the rest of us.
now shut up and grow up.

i wanted to write a poem about race relations in the 60s, so i wrote this. also, sorry about the excessive use of the "n-word"

april 28 - nigger girl

her glossy skin, her big brown eyes,
a soul not scarred with pain and lies,
a tuft of hair with a tiny curl:
tonight was born a nigger girl.

growing up, she played with friends,
never wanting fun to end,
she spins around, whirls and twirls,
a fun-loving, full-of-life nigger girl.

she went to school, and suddenly,
she heard, "you're not the same as me.
what's wrong with you?" in a different world
now lives that little nigger girl.

the girl is stunned. "what's that he said
about the way she's different?
and what's that phrase he said to her?
i've never heard that "nigger" word."

and now she's noticed something weird:
the kids are staring, some in fear
of what would happen to the world
if they played with Nigger Girl.

for many years, the names were thrown,
about her skin, about her home,
about the way she sees the world,
she'll always be the Nigger Girl.

one day in 1963,
as she was walking down the street,
a boy came up and cracked her head,
and now the Nigger Girl is dead.

a great crowd gathered at the wake
to submit her soul to Jesus' sake.
her spirit lies in another World,
where there's no such thing as "Nigger Girl".

april 29 - that's what she said

i never thought it would be this long.
it's too hard to handle all at once,
i have to take it a little bit at a time.
the way you stand there makes me think
how quickly this will pass.
for as huge as you made it out to be,
i wasn't all that impressed with it.
it was a quick run, and very entertaining,
but it left me longing for more.
i think i like the way your friend does it better--
he can keep going for hours, if he has to.
the way his fingers run down my G-string,
it sends chills down my spine,
and i just want to give him an award for showmanship.

ahh..... guitar.
how i love it when people more talented than myself
show off everything you can do.