The Lone Nut

The night is warm and humid from the rain that has transformed the gravel into black vinyl,

reflecting the strung lights like a pool of water.

Carnival rides and funnel cakes and

"Step on up folks, step on up to win a prize!"

and a white tent with a stage and a band -

middle aged parents throwing out throw-back music

and people strewn about in fold-up chairs,

eating their fried food with intolerable indifference

 

So naturally, I tie up my loose hair

and stand in the middle of the tent

Snapping my fingers, tapping my boots on the gravel, and ignoring the stares

With a "c'mon!" and a tug, I reel in my friend

And we are dancing

 

Matted hair sprawled across my shoulders. I told her, spin and now strut.

We’re the lone nuts.

We don’t even know what we’re doing, but our arms become tangled

trying to keep up and our breath strangled

by the exertion and heat, but nothing is a diversion from the

smile on our lips.

 

I am throwing my head back in laughter

She is smiling through her body

 

But you are only starring,

scoffing.

 

You look at me as if I’m crazy

I’m crazy

For continuing my performance uninterrupted

because I don’t believe in conformance

nor has my peace of mind been corrupted

to think that what you think is more important

than how I feel,

which I swear seems unreal but still you stand there,

just stand there

with crossed arms, closed minds, cold hearts

And that’s only the start of where you’re losing yourself.

 

Cautiously constructing your carefully construed conversations,

considering not what compels you, but being consumed by the continually constricting concept of what is "cool",

catching yourself before you casually expose who you were created to be,

created to be by a Creator who is not confined to the clouds, and still

never concerning yourself with the cost of cluttering your conscious with concepts from the cosmos,

crying because you catch yourself converting to things you don’t believe in

and compromising your character,

condemned to compare yourself, without the confidence to come out of the closet you are confined to

 

Because you care so much

 

Why do you care so much?

 

It kills me

Do you see this part of me?

Dead,

dead because of the people who choose to be dead instead of choosing to be alive

 

You’re losing yourself,

stripping years off your life in fear of someone, who you don’t care about,

judging you, weary with want to steer clear of anyone poking fun at the fundamentals of your being.

But man you’re too young to be so near death,

to have willingly rung such a noose around your neck

‘Cause you only get 100 years if you're lucky

 

If you're lucky

 

So call me weird, call me whatever you like

But I will have lived before I have died.

 

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