IG Poets #2
IG Poets #2
We had this guy
named Meathead
in the bleachers
at all our high school basketball games,
he sat stoically
with his arms crossed
until a referee made an unagreeable call
and that’s when
he’d
take
a stand
and say,
“Bullshit!”
15 years removed from that scene,
but if I went back tonight
he’d still be there
eating popcorn,
with the same haircut,
next to his wife,
and that’s because
true originals never change,
and the same reason why
when I scroll through my feed
all of your writing looks the same.
I know it looks like
we’re in the same game,
both boards contain pieces,
but while I’m playing chess
you’re stuck on being pawns
and judging by your moves
I think you’re only
acting
like
a
writer;
if not,
make an amendment
to
it
or tell me
what you see
in the scene from Inception
when DiCaprio
stepped into the rented room
with the justification of a wine glass breaking
and what was the adjective
listed in the narrative direction
for the way his face should look
when his wife jumped
to
her
death?
But that was
just a segment of the script
and if you recall the rest of it
you’d remember something about a dream
and being
a certain amount
of levels deep,
a part of learning
is playing pretend,
and it’s looking at Instagram
that I realize
I’m knee deep in shit.
I set my phone down
and say,
“I don’t get it.”
It might be
the fact that
anyone
can claim to be
anything
that makes
the only way
to be heard
is to be
the most of
insert your adjective: [here].
Superlatives
never have been
my favorite description,
except when
I call back to high school
and my campaign
to get votes
for class clown,
a joker then
and a court jester now
I’ll ask you
one
last
thing,
“When was the last time
you woke up on the shore of existence
and felt the burning desire to write?”
A #POETRY search on Instagram:
(45 minutes ago)
I DON’T KNOW WHAT I FEEL ANYMORE.
Well,
you’re a poet,
maybe you should know.
Meathead says,
“Bullshit!”