Dad and Mom both want me
To dress like they both dress.
If I don’t follow their rules
They think my life is a mess.
I understand that they don’t
Like the way I wear my hair
But, if haircuts are mentioned
In the Constitution, tell me where.

I’ll be a mullet-wearing hipster
As a dedication to yesterday
If ever a day is officially declared
Celebrating double-knit polyester.
But until that day comes, folks
I want you both to know
I don’t want to look like I am
Character from a television show.

I don’t mean to be picky here
But I have suffered the ridicule.
I was the only kid dressed up
Like a CPA in elementary school.
We’re not talking about me
Joining a gang of outlaw crooks.
I just don’t want to get beat up
Because of the way I look.

I’m not shaving ‘***** you’ in
The back of my shaved head.
Neither do I want to come
Dressed as a nerd instead.
It’s probably all about moderation
And less about modern style
But with your kind permission
I’d like to talk with you awhile.

Let’s come to some happy medium
Where you don’t think it’s a scam
That I want to enjoy my youth
And be the person I really am.
I do understand parental guidance
And am grateful that you are here.
But please let me get with the times
Before I prematurely age ten more years.

Where I came from
It was that time in history
White people who loved
Black guys faced misery.
There was a huge batch
Of ugly names we earned.
And sometime more than
Just crosses were burned.

Where I came from
The Bible was used to beat
To abjure and vilify us
And toss us into the street.
We were demonized for
Bedding animals they said.
I just couldn’t stand that
Kind of hatred in my head.

Where I came from
Hypocrisy and bigotry rule.
They go to church Sundays
And the rest of the time
They act the total fool.
They demand the right
To tell me who to choose.
Demand the same of them
And brother, you lose.

Where I came from
They throw around the words
Of someone called Jesus
As if they had really heard.
But talk to them of the book
They claim is the word of god
And they come up with answers
That can only be called odd.

Where I came from
There are beggars on the street
And children without food
Or shoes on their tiny feet.
And yet they sing songs
Of good will to all men.
But they really don’t mean it
And prove it again and again.

Where I came from
Much is called restricted.
The Golden Rule and peace
Are so totally conflicted.
I grew up seeing goodness
Reinterpreted by the white
That practiced prejudice
And hate and called it right.

Sounds rather risqué, right?
Like an unmentionable body part.
Not a person you might care about.
No the other half of your heart.
Not my partner or sweetheart
Not my husband or my lover.
Any of those titles above
Will appropriately cover.

No, they call me your friend,
Your little buddy, your ‘thing’.
That last one I always suffer
As particularly insulting.

But, not my watchacallit,
My whatever, or such euphemisms.
They hit me like less than kind
And disapproving colloquialisms.
I mean, how would you feel
If I referred to your wife like that?
Calling her your sidekick or
Something like a stray cat?

I have no problem with asking
How my honey is doing today.
After all, that’s really who he is.
He’s my sweetheart every day.

So, think for a moment, please
Before you begin to speak.
Your lack of sensitivity can
Only make you look weak.
Just because we didn’t choose
The path you chose to take
Doesn’t mean you’re better than I
So, give this bigotry stuff a break.

He’s my partner and sweetheart
He’s my husband and my lover.
Any of those titles above
Will appropriately cover.

For you who served
So others might live.
Some of you gave
All you had to give.
We lost some of you
And it broke our hearts
But, live or die you all
Stood up to do your part.

For those of you who served
When some could not go
You overcame obstacles
That we will never know.
But because you stood
And fought against villainy
You have an honored place
In our country’s history.

No stones can be stacked
High enough to balance
The mothers who lost
Their children in battles
And no speeches made
Can ever appropriately say
What your sacrifice has meant
To every one of us today.

I wandered the lonely road
Like it was the only road.
I called out to nobody there.
I called out but nobody cared.

The echoes sometimes call
From no memory at all.
Nobody ever felt the pain
That caused this refrain;
A sound that startles me
Somehow it shames me.
Often it blames me.

I don’t understand the reason
There can be time without season,
Leaves fall without any tree.
Voices heard but only by me.
Is this only my imagination
Or some kind of hallucination?

I wandered the lonely road
Like it was the only road.
I called out to nobody there.
I called out but nobody cared.

Is this something the lonely do?
Is this what the solitary go through?
Do all loners dance to a ditty
Dictated and orchestrated by pity?
Is being single a kind of madness
Brought on by descent into sadness
Where one is never told
That they have lost their hold?

The is a kind of sad magic
That makes clowns of the tragic
And paints impressive hues
On the excuses I use
To try to mask the crippling pain;
Of swirling around the drain.
It’s not until the last bubble
That I know I am in trouble.

I wandered the lonely road
Like it was the only road.
I called out to nobody there.
I called out but nobody cared.

To be fair, this superstitious stuff
Goes a helluva long way back.
It was around the time of Babel
That the Israelites lost all track
Of logic and reason in the books
They were peddling as God’s word.
Oh, okay, they were just passing on
Mesopotamian stories they heard
But then to start calling it all
The voice of the spiritual over-mind
Means we are expected to be
Sort of intellectually deaf and blind.
Even if one can accept things like
A snake that talks and wheedles
I think accepting talking bushes
Requires stuff in hypodermic needles.

I think you have confused
Your Jehovah with Santa.
They are not the same thing.
Let me hear you say hallelujah!
Some of your traditions are
Verging on the weird and funny
When you peddle stories
About an egg-laying bunny.
And that basket of fishes
To feed a thousand was dumb.
In prehistoric Israel, just where
Did those freeloaders come from?
That strange ‘water into wine’ thing
Would be banned by law today.
Jesus, as evangelical moonshiner?
The authorities would put him away.

But that’s all fine and good if
One personally deems it to be so,
This claiming to run daily life
By words memorized long ago.
Since some of it makes sense
It may be easier to just ignore
Things like wizards and magic
As something from long before.
Evidence today says nobody lived
For eight hundred years and such.
But things like facts don’t seem
To bother religious people that much.
So, have at it, you spooky folks
With your symbols and mystery
Just save your breath if you think
You’ll get acceptance from me.

When I dream
I find myself in places
I never go to awake
Taking chances
I never take
For fear I will break
Or stumble.

So instead I grumble
That I never go anywhere
And let myself scare myself
Out of doing what I need
To do in order to be true
To the person I am
When I am awake.

I fully flimflam and take
The easy, the coward’s road.
I hop away like a toad
Then whine to myself
In my dreams.

It seems ineffective.
But it seems inelective.
It’s like I have no choice
But I still listen
To my sleeping voice.

Someday I may stop
And drop this bad habit,
Choosing to have it my way;
Me on the highway, walking
Instead of lying in bed talking
About how good it could be
If I were the dreaming me.