So, this is my favorite poem that I have ever written. It was for one of my senior poetry classes in college. I honestly don't think I've actually written anything since then, poetry wise, at least. I should really get back in the swing of it, I wasn't a bad poet.
Stand-up
Curling, blue-gray feathers twist upward
From the burning cigarette in my fingers.
People in the nearby line, dressed in the
Sparkling blues, purples and silvers of exotic birds,
Stare with a predator's glare while I stand alone,
Mauled by their eyes.
I flick my spend butt with fake bravado,
Trying to shake off being on display.
Another five minutes snake by,
Until I stop denying that "maybe he's just stuck in traffic."
I slink to the end of the row of hungry faces.
Walking into the crowded, cavernous club,
Searching through the boiling mass of dancers with painted faces
For my friends who journeyed ahead.
My tribe offers me a potion,
We wander into the dance floor
To pulsing rhythms and nameless companions.
~Spring '02, Radford, VA
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