Saturday, August 31

see you in september.

apparently it's a real thing,
happening in several places simultaneously.
i know it must be,
because i used to just be the gay one.
and now, suddenly, somehow, elements have converged,
and i'm just one of the many.
that's right.
do you guys know about the truth these days?
as in,
male's fingernails.
as in,
clipped, emery boarded, cuticle scissored slivers of keratin,
lacquered and enameled, an' that.
my hands have teeth, but my claws have polish.
we might get fancy with it, we worthy warrior poets.
that's a thing.
i'm reppin' a serious september-style leaf-change spectrum, too.
check the teleport:
five fingers, every one an individual accent.
nature's first greenthumb is gold,
but that's actually the middle finger this time.
(and every knuckle on that hand)
that's the correct amount of activation.
ten fingers go to eleven.
word up.
and by the way?
personal style counts double when you freak it off with sparkles.
real talk.
speaking of personal styles.
excuse me while i yaaaaaaaaawn.
y'know what's boring?
regular-looking girls.
that's definitely a thing.
i mean it.
i'm not saying that the middling masses have no merit.
they're just not my speed, so to speak.
you can look like, and act like, and sound like everybody else,
and that's an excellent way to be unremarkably average.
i'm sorta sure invisibility in plain sight probably has it's perks.
(although i wouldn't know about that)
as adults, we get a choice, y'know?
you dress yourself, you style your hair,
you pick out your presentation to the world at large.
so there's that.
what i really mean is-
i kind of have a thing for the interesting faces and places on women
who don't look like anybody else.
oh, sure, style counts a lot,
but factory-issued physical idiosyncrasies make me more excited.
you got parts that generic and unimaginative people aren't into?
well, then, baby, i just might be 'bout 'em.
i'm not saying that i wanna get freaky-diki with any stump creatures,
or bog-trollops, or beast-schlampen,
but i am saying that when i cherchez la femme,
it's that jolie laide that gets my attentions activated.
i mean it.
usually, in the more-applicable secondary post-comma definition.
no jokes.
y'ever hear a term for the first time and feel profound relief,
because you just know it applies to something you do,
but didn't have a better term for until that moment?
extreme beauty, but in the unconventional sense?
that's what i like.
those're those custom jauns, y'heard?
my fancy fingers,
my burly beard,
my busted F*ing face.
i stay ugly, but i stay dope,
because i gotta believe there's a jolie laide equivalent for men.
some superlatively lovely and in equal measure, unusual lady
is totally splooshing about the idea of a lanky, cranky,
semi-skanky savage stormswept raging genius gypsy gentleman-
and when we meet,
their bits and my bits are gonna go together like a tornado inside a hurricane,
and then everything expert is gonna happen all at once.
and on that loud, fresh, low note august is now over and out;
never quiet, never soft.....

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