Before I begin...

Before I begin my poem, I want to tell you some
things,
about myself.

I think,
I might be a little like you.
This…confessional poetry stuff freaks me out,
the inner confines of my soul and such,
its confusing.

I feel like the more I try to say
the more I hide myself from others
and from myself.

My life isn’t poetry.
It’s the day after Valentines Day.
It’s the half prices box of chocolates
that got thrown into the 75 percent off cart.

I always feel like I’m the understudy
for the prima ballerina of the NYC ballet,
standing back stage
waiting, waiting, waiting
for that moment
when I finally got to pirouette
in front of the whole world.

I’m waiting for my big break.
But at the ballet,
that time
never comes for me.

My life is like the cocky one
in the UNO game
who thinks she’s gonna win.
And just as I reach UNO!
I’m bombarded with draw four cards
from every player
and I have to draw
24 more cards.

My life is the beautiful poetry
that I hear everyday.
And I want so baldly
to imitate it-
but only end up with marginal poetry
that I shaped from phrases
I found on google.

My life is a never ending
parade of trivial matters
from the
cowlick in my bangs
to asking for more ice in my sprite
and picking up take-out
and copying math homework
the period before its due.

My biggest problems are
broken fingernails and
a dead battery in my cell phone
and the over-exaggerated heartache
over the failed and nonexistent relationship
with Andrew-
the boy I liked SO much
in 9th grade
and can't seem to let go of.

My life is like the empty promises
of Tyson who works at dairy queen,
who said he’s call me but never has.
Or the how-to
hair-do
videos on YouTube
that I try to copy and
end up with limp strands
that stick to my face
and I have to go to school
in a ponytail-
again.

And that got me to thinking,
the greatest moments in life
aren’t:
the Berlin wall coming down,
or when the moon eclipses the sun
or when the Boston Red Sox
finally pull a win
over Minnesota when
I had lost all hope.

Big moments in life aren’t when
the hurricane clears the horizon
but when:
we zip our coats,
to go outside and
make a snowman
with our best friends.
When we laugh too hard,
trip on the curb,
drop a cell phone in the toilet,
when we wake up in the morning
and do it all again.

Realizing
that every second
is present
quickly becoming
the past.
Every minute is meaning
and every moment is life.
With popsicle stained lips
vanilla scented body spray,
and knock off Chanel purses
we can still looking to the sky
above our heads
and tell all who will listen
that we lived.

When we shape blockbuster lives
out of every ordinary moment.

This is my life,
and this is
your life.
This is my poem,
and yours
too.
This is my story-
and you still don’t
know me.
And
I
still
don’t
know
myself.