the truth about tobacco

This is a poem about real things.

Things you can hold in your hand. Things you can feel. Things that will kill you.

This is a Drug Poem. It's not really a suicide poem.

A student once asked me if I ever did drugs when I was a teenager. I said, "No comment." How can you tell someone not to do something you've never tried yourself?

I don't smoke, I don't drink, I don't inhale, shoot up, or sniff anything. I'm so anti-drug, they're probably going to put DON'T DO DRUGS on my head stone. My favorite entry in the dictionary is for the word WACK. The example sentence is: all drugs are bad, but crack is wack.

And ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, the dictionary was right. Crack is wack.

But this is a poem about real things.

It's not about ghosts or zombies or vampires. 

It's not about grades or SAGE tests or graduation.

It's not even really about death, it's about things that can kill you. Like heart attacks. Shotguns. Choking. It's about real things.

It's not about sadness, it's about the rain. It's about staring at nothing. Keeping everything bottled up.

It's about smoking cigarettes.

There's something romantic about it. If you can get past the smell, the teeth stains, the phlegm, all the emphysema.

But this isn't a poem about lung disease. It's about real things. It's a poem about what really should be said at the dinner table. It's about everything that's happening right now. 

Like how scared I am to be here in the auditorium instead of the little theater or my classroom or my living room. It's just too big. Like we're goldfish in the ocean.

 We don't make eye contact anymore and we don't wear watches either. We don't hide behind pen names.

We write poems about addiction. Poems about death and heartbreak and loneliness. 

We write poems in the car. We sit in Wal-mart parking lots writing poems about the moon, but the streetlights keep getting in the way. We wait at railroad crossings wondering when it will be our turn. We know the train will end eventually, but none of us can see it.

This is a poem about real things. It's not about Facebook friends or even real-life friends. It's definitely not about high school. It's about how all the cute girls got fat. And all the fat girls got married. And nobody remembers where anybody sat for lunch. 

So here's the truth about tobacco:

It takes years to kill you. I wish I could say the same about everything else.

On Turning Ten by Billy Collins

The Elephant in the Room

I didn't get into this to become the enemy. The villain. The bad guy. I never wanted it to be them vs. me. Kryptonite isn't cheap, and I'm not even in the market anyway.

I like teenagers. If I start hating them, I probably shouldn't be a teacher.

But look at me. Telling these young whippersnappers to get off my lawn. Sitting in this computer lab shushing kids like a librarian stereotype.

Shhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

Keep it down.

Shhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

I effin' hate this.

It's spring break in 20 minutes and I'm asking them to focus.

I remember being 15. I hated school, I hated teachers, I hated adults. It was YOLO before Drake could even walk. It was trending before hashtags. I just wanted to have fun. No, sir, I don't have a hall pass. Yes, sir, I'll go back to class. No, ma'am, I don't know where that came from. Yes, ma'am, I'm sorry.

Now look at me.

The enemy.

Maybe I'm just bitter. Maybe I'm taking my baldness out on them. My sore ankle. My lost adolescence.

There's an elephant in this room. They call him The Future. He's wearing sunglasses and knows everything. He's the coolest kid in the neighborhood, with the whitest teeth, but everyone's too intimidated to look him in the eye.

We all know he's there, but I'm the only one who's taking him seriously. These kids are too busy giggling and No way, are you serious? and Shut up and Ha ha hee hee ha ha hee.

This is the worst flirting I've ever seen.

They pretend like they don't see him there, staring at them. You know how teenagers are. Like they're all performing and the cameras just started rolling. We may as well be in the stands of a football game on a Friday night and the boy we like is sitting right behind us.

I'm not saying I wish I was them. Because I don't. When I was 15, Puberty was just a monster under the bed. So those weren't the glory days for me.

Maybe I'm just waiting for the bell to ring too. 

Tomorrow (Cuz that's when I wrote it)

T.G.I.F.!

But anyway.

I wrote a few poems and someone had the brilliant idea that maybe I should read them. So last night, I read them. And then I couldn't sleep.

I couldn't sleep because I kept thinking about everything I was scared of. Cause baby, I was so scared. I was scared of standing up in front of all those people. I was scared of not being interesting. I was afraid that they wouldn't like me. And if they did like me, what if it didn't last and what if I died and they didn't come to my funeral because the weekends are busy?

The future is overflowing with time but I can't stop worrying that it's running out. I just bought a new pen and I'm still not satisfied. I don't know if they noticed, but last night I couldn't really look them in the eyes because if I did then we both might've gotten lost. Sometimes I'm afraid that maybe we're all that beautiful and I don't know about them, but I still think I'm the center of the universe. And strangers sit around and watch my life like The Truman Show...but I know that was just a movie. Because I notice myself in crowds and usually I just blend in.

I want to be more than just Earth decor.

I want to be taller. I want them to like me- even if I don't know them (especially if I don't know them). I want to go to Seven Peaks and take my shirt off- like take my WHOLE shirt off and just walk around. Comfortable. Secure. Happy. But that never happens. I'm too worried about other people and you know what I really hate? Other people.

Hey, look. I'm glad we got the chance to catch up, but really, I never wanted to talk to you about your job. Or how crazy the weather was. Or how school was going or what was new or how things were or what was up because I DON'T CARE. I don't care about you. I don't care about the people in your life. I don't like any of them. I don't like giving courtesy laughs and I definitely don't like anything you've posted on Facebook even though sometimes it may appear as if I liked it. I was just trying to be nice.

I think I might be allergic to PHONY and right now, I'm about to sneeze, yall.

No offense, but I'm tired of not offending you- besides, I have too many numbers in my phone anyway. And starting today...if I have a booger in my nose, I'm just gonna pick it. I don't even care.