Sunday, May 22, 2011

A poem written at 3 a.m.

I dedicate this one to Mom and Dad for listening to me when I ramble on about nonsense. . . .  and P.S. this poem is practically retarded written on paper. It's one that you need to hear read aloud. By me. haha :)

Good at All the Wrong Things

I’m a great pep-talker.
I can make you feel better about yourself any day.
But, in no way am I a good public speaker.
Give me a microphone,
put me in front of a crowd,
and prepare to roll me away on a gurney,
‘cause I won’t last long.

I’m the best high school sports fan.
I’ll root, root root for the home team.
If they don’t win it’s a shame
(which is quite often).
But put me out there on that field
to make a goal or swing a bat,
and prepare to forfeit,
‘cause I’ll probably make us lose.
Sorry, guys.

I’m probably the best in northern Nevada
at putting together orders in a timely fashion
at Wendy’s Old Fashioned-Hamburgers.
Three number 7 combos,
Seven number 3 combos,
Two orders of spicy nuggets,
One full-sized Spicy Caesar Salad,
And eight chocolate M&M Twisted Frosty’s,
In under a minute.
How does that help me in life?
I have no idea.

I can make a cootie-catcher
Out of anything.
Gum wrappers, class handouts, Wendy’s napkins.
But I can’t draw a picture to save my life.
Creativity is not my cup of tea.

I can write a poem
in four minutes
and thirty seven seconds flat,
But I can’t write a research paper
in four years and thirty seven months
if God himself asked me to.
I guess I’m good at all the wrong things,
But at least I’m good at something.

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