That used to be me

See that one? Just there?
That used to be me.
With the bum-leg-swagger and the overlord stare?
That used to be me.

Over-sized purple shirt, and plaid surf shorts?
That used to be me.
No real friends, but a million cohorts?
That used to be me.

Picking on the other guy ‘cause he’s “weird”?
That used to be me.
The one that pushed him down while the other guys cheered?
That used to be me.

The one who walks down the hall and won’t look at you?
That used to be me.
The one who sneers if and when he ever talks to you?
That used to be me.

I had it all down, the swagger and stare,
The “I wont look at you, I own you, I’m better than you” air.
I cared more about my clothes then I did about my “friends”
Cared less about integrity than I did about split ends.

What did I care if some losers thought me wrong?
Even if I was weak, with my posse I was strong.
No one would mess with me, no, they didn’t dare.
Everything about me screamed “Y’all’d best beware”

“If y’all even think ‘bout messin’ with the V,
Y’all had best reconsider where on the ladder y’all wanna be.”
Anyone who thought they could ragg on me and live.
Was proven wrong, as they came, out of the locker room in skivs.

There was this one guy, he was new.
He pantsed me, in front of more than a few
Of the girls in our class.
He didn’t know how things worked.


He did soon enough.




I had it all down the swagger and stare,
I was king of the school, and then I moved here.
I realized the “popular” kids had nothing to say.
That with the “weirdos” was where I now I had to stay.

I realized then that they cared so much about their images,
that they didn’t dare speak,
What was really on their minds,
Just in case they were “wrong”.

They couldn’t speak freely,
like I do in this poem,
They could never write free-verse,
It’s too revealing.

It’s like being naked,
what if someone saw their true bodies (thoughts)
and disapproved?
Thats why, I think, this new art came with this new position.

This is my new position after all.
Scribe of the lower people.
Thought-shouter of the left-out.
Poet of the odd ones.

All titles that fit perfectly.
We were left out by you.
So we banded together.
And now we’re becoming like you.

It’s horrible to see the degeneration around me.
The drama that we left is seeking us out.
Inserting itself in our lives,
As we try to fit in with the out-casts.

We are and eclectic group of people,
that are slowly becoming one.
One kind, one type, one dress, one code.
To be one of us, you must be this, and at least this and this.

See that one? Just there?
That used to be me.
With the bum-leg-swagger and the overlord stare?
That used to be me.

And it’s happening again, as our positions are overturned