One of my favorite, favorite, favorite things is showing kids really campy cheesed out things. Some teenagers were hanging out at my place the other weekend, and I showed them several videos that astonished and perplexed them, including the one below. One of my all-time 100% favorites, it elicited a great deal of excited commentary including:
-“Wait. Are you sure this isn’t ironic?”
-“Is the woman in this dead?”
-“What is the significance of the flames?” (asked repeatedly)
-“This looks like an outfit someone could buy at Forever 21.”
Oh you guys. I have a Michael Bolton prompt for you this week! And it’s serious.
“I said I loved you but I…”
Repeat, repeat, repeat.
If you reject the Michael Bolton prompt (as I suspect some of you asshats will), I have another poem for you, from Verse Daily. It’s a badass poem I like a whole hell of a lot.
by Allison Joseph
I’m a big city girl and a small town woman,
able to speak patois in a drawl, attracting
both hustlers and hicks with the blank
open beauty of my face, a cynic turned sucker
turned goddess, voluptuous with envy, regret.
Don’t tell me you don’t sec me in my
hand-me-down dresses and brand-new shoes,
don’t claim you can’t hear me because this
isn’t where someone dark as me should be.
Better believe I know how to infiltrate,
how to translate the gasps of language,
keen for the first notes of sirens, wails
others mistake for music. Here to explain
you to you, I upend all cherished contradictions
about brown hips and curves, thighs and edges,
inches lost, gained, flesh I joyously retain
while you lavish your tongue on skin
that’s not mine, spurning what’s both
foreign and home. I am so you that I’m
not you, so when you bump into me
on this crumbling sidewalk, you’d better
say my name right, each syllable a sacrament,
blessings only our multitudes can contain.