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$15,000 in debt
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creepy

October 17th, 2013 § 0 comments

Poem #256 for Anonymous

 

“Why am I creepy?”

“Because you stare.  You stare and you ask questions and you do things that most people don’t do.”

“Why does that make me creepy?”

“Because I don’t know you so I don’t want you staring at me.  I don’t want – it feels violating.  Is that a viable answer?”

You are uncomfortable being looked at so the burden is on me to stop?”

“It’s creepy.  That is all you are entitled to know.”

“There is no logic as to why looking at another human being is creepy.”

“Because you are a stranger.”

“So, look at it as an invitation rather than a closed door.”

Just then the pilot walked in.  He sat at the end of the bar, confident smile, confident posture, confident shiny fucking glasses.  He pissed me off because I wanted to be him.  He was able to say things like Hello, I think you are pretty without being considered creepy and You don’t need my credit card…I am a regular without being a cocky asshole.

I start getting sucked into my own head watching him ooze his oil all over the bar.  All I am being is myself yet I am the creeper for not putting on airs.  Besides…He has a mustache.  It does not get more creepy than a man in the urbanized twenty-first century with a stache, I think, secretly wishing I had not shaved that morning.

It does not take much these days to ignite my fuse, and her choosing the glamour of Mr Pan-Am over me makes me angry.

I stand up brusquely, and they look at me, and I stare back.

“He stares,” she giggles to him, and he giggles back, and they pay me no more mind.

So, in my defiance of their rudeness, I decide turn and walk to the bathroom to go to take a piss.  I had to go this whole time, anyway.

af

(written with pen on paper)

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