A Heartfelt Welcome

To those of you who call me friend, those of you that call me love, those of you who call me brother, those of you that call me son, those of you who call me hero, & those of you who don't know me at all: I welcome you to the mind of a man who's destined to save the world...
1 word at a time.

Thursday, June 27, 2013

Ricky Bobby Interview

She stands there
looking like Hillary Banks
A goddess
with no intelligence
So dumb
you have to pronounce the B at the end
she is my friend
with curves that light up men's alleyways
I might be the only one to know her best curves
are the ones on her face
All of em
Even when she doesn't smile
I'm clearly infatuated with every part of her

Except when she stands there
Looking like Ricky Bobby
in his first interview
and says

"I'm not quite sure what to do with my hands"

She did more than just drop the ball
Chick thought we were playin soccer
And you know how low scoring a match can be
My team got shut out so much
My mornings started to look like replays
of the opening scene of
40 Year Old Virgin
At night I'd trade stares between a screen
filled with dancing flesh
and a bottle of lotion

"I'm not quite sure what to do with my hands"

I was doing squats
while holding the Olympic bar
that was our relationship
on the back of my neck
Horrible form
Before I knew it
I blew my back out
Trying to salvage something
that didn't exist
For anytime I asked her
to at least spot me
She would just stand there
And say

"I'm not quite sure what to do with my hands"

I don't know what's more frustrating
That or anytime she came to me crying
Anytime her debt outweighed her pockets
Anytime she didn't feel as beautiful as she is
Anytime she was lost
I'd put on my cape
Help her to her knees
And tell her to pray
She would just sit there
Arms imprisoned on her sides
And say

"I'm not quite sure what to do with my hands"

Fed up aren't the words
Exhausted isn't my mindframe
And disappointed will no longer
describe my heartbeats
I'm standing at a crossroads
with both grips on opposite ends of a wishbone

"It's not about me being alone
It's about a chance for me to one day
dance with her while she's in white
and our song is being played by a band

But I'm not quite sure what to do with my hands!"

A voice has appeared now
from air fairly thin and says

"Lift them"

I say
"Much obliged"
Extend my palms
And walk away

No comments:

Post a Comment