Since I Criticize You So Much

I guess it wouldn't hurt if I actually took the time to get to know you.

Truth is, it's not You I criticize, persay,
but rather, your Congregation
that echoes your presence in cooing vowel sounds,
gives you more texture, makes you larger than life
even if the Congregation is too hammered to form coherent words.

You have become a symbol.
The Underachiever, the Misunderstood
the Lover Who Lacks Affection,
ironically, the Elite.
You have become a fence,
dividing the subordinates from the self-proclaimed prestige.
You are the name-tag, the handshake, the open sesame!
You are the hinge that closes the double-doors.
You have made me feel left out.

Maybe I criticize you so much because
I was the last one picked for the team.
I wasn't invited to sit at the punkers' table,
my grades weren't high enough for Ivy League
and I didn't even attempt the cheerleading squad.
Nope, none of it as I casually drifted like a lonely ball in bumper pool
waiting for just the right push, finally trying to win my own game
rather than anyone else's. Rather than prestigious like a symbol,
I am an excuse for the Non-Conformist.

Maybe you and I would've gotten along.
Or at least shit-faced to the point of non-recognition,
where suddenly it seems okay to hang with people you despise
for the sake of a good time. Maybe I would've passed out,
after slugging tequila and Bud Light, only to wake up still 16
with the quarterback rubbing my thigh,
whose throbbing penis is the size of my pinky.

Truth is, your Congregation repulses me and it's not your fault.
They've battered and abused you, commercialized you,
they call you their Father because they don't know what to call themselves.
But, Pops, I am the Transitional, the Hungry,
the Not-so-sour-puss.
Maybe if I learn you I'll learn me too.
Or at least I'll have a ticket through the double-doors
only to crash the party, pour beer on the quarterback,
have more depth in my insults.

Either way, I think you'd be proud.

written on May 12, 2008

(LOOOOOVE This! -Brantly)

(The part about the quarterback made my coin purse move a little! -Lyndsey)