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.