there is a hummingbird inside my heart
and his heartbeat, is 1000 times a minute
my child, before it’s born
he will be all the things, I’m not
the crowd is waiting for him
to make him, one, with the crowd.
I’ve nurtured my music maker, with bold words
spoken, in a quiet room, alone.
My heroes, are written down
When I find one, they scream off the page
and my heart skips
because they say what needs to be said
and the world makes sense, for a moment.
All the perfect people are looking for their own
they’re beautiful, and cultured, and live expensive lives
so many, who aren’t that, want to be that
and when they become, what they’ve missed
they’ll be fat, rich, chocolate cake-eaters
with raspberry filling on their faces.
the losers, the less fortunate, the underclass
who never reach perfection
live faded lives, or belong to a stratum with different standards
comparing flower tattoos on wrinkled skin
at the barbecue.
I have never wanted to belong
and I watch the crazy ones
who nobody loves
too strange and beautiful to be accepted, like a rainbow rose
a buttoned black shirt, three sizes too large, billowing in the wind
reading a book, on the sidewalk, among Porsche SUVs, and angry Honda Civics
or the genius dancer, who can’t hold a conversation
but grabs a perfect rose, for a moment
and does his jig on the floor, perfectly
so that, she almost approves of him, until he opens his mouth.
from time to time, it’s fun to pretend to be someone else
but most, have become, someone, they’re not
I don’t envy perfect people, unless they are perfect
Clint Eastwood comes to mind
all the rest have to say the right things, and look good
for fear of a bad photograph.
It all comes back to a girl
I suspect she is acting perfect, but her flashes of rebellion make her beautiful to me
she isn’t sure of me
because I don’t dress well, all of the time
and I don’t say the right things, all of the time
and I love “crazy” people, I admire them
and I don’t admire her friends
and when I find myself, talking to her, and the pretty girls see me, talking to her
suddenly, I get friend requests, on Facebook, Instagram, etc.
because I’m not so strange, anymore
because, she has blended in, better than me
and she’s testing me, to see if I can blend in, as good as she can.
Now I have these perfect white shoes
and perfect gym clothes
and my body looks like Adonis
and all the girls in the gym, watch me
and my friend says, “I feel so lucky, just hanging out with you.”
but I feel so lucky, hanging out with him
I find him interesting, and they’re not
“You could have any one of them,” he says, with admiration
but there is nothing to have
that’s the problem with the world, Getting
everyone is Getting
they don’t know about their little bird, inside
to stay alive.