Frustration

We came with notebooks and pens.
These are not weapons.
Not on purpose.
We came with our ready hands.
Not to fight,
But to talk.
We came knowing you.
Knowing you don’t listen,
We came anyway.
We stayed to watch you:
Make a phone call.
Change your mind.
Wander off to get cake.
We stood when it was our turn.
You stayed seated.
We watched you draw a bell
And delegate our feelings to the edges.
Between bites,
Your corners stained with frosting,
You told us to love you.
You told us we are appalling failures.
You told us you cried.
Someone asked you for honesty.
And crumbs fell out of your mouth.
We left knowing you.
Knowing you didn’t listen,
Unclenching our fists
And sweeping our laps
With our palms.

The 2 Lowest, Most Sludgy Life Forms on the Planet

Athletic Directors
High School Principals

“Back to your muck, slime-dwellers!“

It doesn’t matter that your performance was scheduled last May. It doesn’t matter that the Principal said more than 3 times that he would support you and defend that date. It doesn’t matter that you’ve already advertised and notified parents of rehearsals and performance dates. It doesn’t matter that we work all semester adapting a script into ASL, not to mention prep work and costuming and design and vision. It doesn’t matter.

Why? Sports will always win. Sports produces date rapers, dog fighters, high school principals, and men who think they need to answer to no one. Sports is the best example of our f’d-up society’s f’d-up priorities, paying professional athletes ridiculously huge amounts of money and teachers ridiculously small. Sports is a money-maker. A turducken of wasted energy. A source of surface metaphors. A slogan. As deep as a mud puddle.

Then they smile at you the next day and call you dramatic. It’s better than being vulgar, slithering worms!