COMM 100

(My first attempt at Slam Poetry.)

I
Am an awkward person.

My brain works on a different frequency than most
Normal people.
I find myself translating conversations in my head
And most of the time
My translations
Are
Wrong

All the He said She said is just static to me.
Gossip cackles through the airwaves
Creating a high-pitched ringing in my ears that makes me feel
Uncomfortable
My train of thought chugs along the conversational railways
Like the express train to Penn
It doesn’t stop for people who say things they don’t mean or mean things they don’t say
It has no time for liars, deriders, or stereotype buyers.

Most of the time
“No pun intended”
Goes right over my head.

I came to school
To study the English language
But the handiest thing I’ve learned was
“Mind your Ps and Qs”
Originally referred
To brews.
What I learn in class
And what you speak in the Quad
Is as different as Yiddish
And Klingon.

Every so often though
I find myself standing in a spot where the signal comes in clear
And I’ll say,
“Can you hear me now?”
And someone will reply,
“Yes.”
It is then that I discover I am
An Engaging Conversationalist
A Cunning Linguist
And
I can find le mot juste every time.

But it’s rare.

So often am I wandering around on this whirlwind of words that
When strung together the way you do
Like
Totally
Fo’Sho’
Makes zero sense to me.
Forgive me for asking, but
What the hell are you on?
You so obvi lost me at the first deff and second totes.
Are you a moron?
Or is that a joke?

I feel like a foreigner that’s studying abroad
So the next time I say,
“I don’t understand you.”
Maybe you can just say,
“I feel that way too.”

And we can translate.

Muse

Muse

He drums to a beat in his head
On a drum that makes no sound
But still his hands move to the tune.
The noise in the room crowds the air around him
No expression fills his face
Alone in a room full of people
He looks it. Lonely.
Still he taps out rhythms
Whole orchestras in his mind.

Who am I to say he's lonely?
I called the music noise.
He looks uninterested, but interesting.
I look bored, and boring.
This does not surprise me.
His drumming attracts me like a tribal beat
Even in silence.
Does my pen attract him
Even though my words are a mystery?

I'm writing about you,
Silent Drummer across the aisle.
Are you writing that song for me,
The Writer?