I am xenophobic. Don’t touch me stranger.
Don’t mess with me broccoli.
That’s right, stay back.
I am plastic bag. Pliant, cut-able, usable.
I fly. That’s right, on windy days. I
I am sexual. I touch you here.
What? Don’t touch you there? You
Know you want me to. Fuck.
I am introvert. I scribble in my
Diary. Perfect, calm. No one’s here.
I rip. I burn the page, just in case.
I am religious. Hold that Bible.
Read it. Read it carefully,
Like you mean it. Fold my hands.
I am gentleman. Hold the lady’s
Hand. Open the door. You’re
I am studious. Bright sharp
Slick foxy. You like my
Pedantry? Good, I like it too.
I am fixable. Here, pass me the
Wrench. Turn my cogs the right
Way. You don’t believe me? You shouldn’t.
I admire new. I just don’t like
Strange. Creeping things. Walking
In the dark. Red eyes.
Plastic bags. What are they good for,
You ask? Putting in granola wrappers,
Eraser shavings, masturbation tissues.
I like the part in the movie
Where the guy finally wins
The girl’s heart. Sexy.
You know what I’m talking
About. Oh, don’t blush! I’m sorry.
I didn’t mean it that way.
I chant. Meditate on good
News. News that strengthens my brittle
Bones. Unstable thoughts, my bad.
I greatly appreciate it.
Please don’t flatter me. Me, kind?
Well, I like the thought of that.
Invention means progress.
Everyday I grow bigger brains,
A better mind. A brighter bulb.
Reform? Me. Why the fuck point
At me? I listened. I tried to look
Interested. No. Well, I guess I’m no good.
Age 16, Grade 11
Bard High School Early College