Poem-A-Day: Day 153

It Helps

Early 80s,
and I’d like to think I was conceived
to at least one of Journey’s albums.
Life,
the great journey,
or just THE journey,
there have been peaks of greatness,
but they seem to be overshadowed
by Himalayan feats of disgust:
childhood—13 years of what?
Early 90s
soundtrack plays over lousy school speakers,
and I dance to myself,
a shaky two-step shuffle
along the green painted cinderblock wall.
I’m almost certain I wore a blue Haggar shirt,
some khaki slacks,
and a Marvin the Martian tie.
No wonder I was alone
crowded with the rest of the nerds.
Early 00s,
What’s to be said?
Awkward as ever,
yet somehow more confident
for no reason.
Stylistically, no more different
than the previous me,
only more amazing, why?
I managed to turn failure
and uncomfortable wandering
into a marketable commodity.
Poetry helped.