Despicable

(to the tune of “Invisible” by Clay Aiken)

 

Who you fucking tonight?

I wish I had never met you at all

Tired of all your down-low

Who’s sucking your dick?

Why did I let you into my life?

Russian roulette you’re playing – who’ll come out alive?

 

CHORUS:

You’re fucking despicable

Screwing around right behind my back

It’s gonna be difficult

But your lies end tonight

It’s so fucking pitiful

The lengths you go just to tap some ass

Don’t you know you could get crabs?

You’re fucking despicable

(God… I’m so fucking mad!)

 

So, you’re married with kids

You’re eating her out, and then come for this

I can’t take it no more

I am not your whore

What compelled you to mess with our minds?

Does she even know that she is risking her life?

 

(CHORUS)

 

Just get out

You never really loved me

Motherfucker, get out

Don’t you even call me (DON’T YOU CALL ME!)

I’ll do better without you

So can your wife and kids too.

 

(CHORUS)

 

You’re fucking despicable… (REPEAT AD NAUSEUM)

 

NOTE: I hadn’t even heard of Clay Aiken’s “Invisible” for many years, and I was one of the 600,000+ people who bought Clay Aiken’s debut album back in 2003. I knew that the song had insipid lyrics and was certainly not befitting a singer like Clay, even making it onto a VH1 show chronicling “Awesomely Bad Songs”. Mercifully Clay has done better material over the years, from Broadway to standards. It wasn’t until last night’s American Idol results show that I heard “Invisible” for the first time in ages. They played it over a montage of Clay’s Idol journey (he was one of the guest performers). The original song is about a man who feels invisible from the one that he loves from afar. My version, “Despicable”, is about a man who finds out that his lover is married with kids, and he is none too pleased. After downloading and listening to “Invisible” on my iPod, I came up with the entire song within 30 minutes.

2ND NOTE: This is the first non-poem on this site.

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Dread

I’ve been dreading this for some time

And time is not my friend

Because a friend is there for you through thick and thin

And this is how my patience is wearing

 

I can barely keep it together right now

And now is the time to tell the truth

Even if the truth is a bitter pill to swallow

Swallow it you must so things will get better

 

“Mom, Dad… I’m…”

 

Suddenly, everything turns to dark

And with the dark comes nothing

Well, not nothing at first; I feel the cold ground

And the ground feels like a sharp tack

 

I see the light… and I’m in a hospital bed

And yet I can’t put to bed the truth that was about to come

I have come to, and now I have to come out

And out comes the word:

 

“…gay.”

Public Emotion

We’re not supposed to let it all out there

Because it’s not how a good Asian person is supposed to act

Instead, we’re supposed to keep it inside

Save face, they say

Play the piano or the violin

Get a 1600 on our SATs

Embrace devout filial piety

And never talk about what is ticking in our brains and hearts

Or, what’s NOT ticking

But I can’t play any instrument

I never even took the SAT

I hate my family

And I want to talk about what is ticking or not inside of me

It’s time for me to let it all out there

It’s time for my emotions to be made public.

A Crowded Bar On Gay Pride Sunday

Masses of inebriated humanity

Packed like sardines without the oil

The music and conversation are at full blast

As is the booze that flows freer than gay liberation

Population density makes Macau look like Mongolia

Do they even know what they’re saying?

Do they even know what they’ve ordered?

Do they even care on the last Sunday in June?

 

(This poem came about when I was visiting The Mix on 18th and Castro in San Francisco on the 24th of June, 2012, about an hour after I left the Pride Parade out of total boredom and loneliness.)

The Least Employable Person On Earth

The least employable person on Earth

is me

because I’m either

NOT QUALIFIED ENOUGH

or TOO DAMN QUALIFIED

despite having

a college degree

and a high school diploma

and a fluent grasp on the English language

and a willingness to learn

and no criminal record.

 

Even though I have

serious personal and interpersonal issues

it should not preclude me

from joining the workforce

because people have hired

people crazier than me

and I sit on the sidelines

of the employment game

waiting for that moment when

someone will call me

and say

“We’d like to take a chance with you”

without following it with

“but we can’t.”

 

Right now

I’m the only one in my family

without steady employment

and it’s frustrating

because

my family is always on my case

and making me file for SSI

so that I’ll have a caretaker

when no one is left

to support me

even though I don’t qualify

and they act like

they’re going to croak soon

so I’d better

GET A JOB

or they’ll die

and I’ll be blamed for their deaths,

even though

they have no idea what it’s like

to have an education

but have nothing to show for it

because they did not experience it themselves.

 

Which begs the question:

Why did I get an education in the first place?

 

What was the point of

years of public education

if you only became

a public failure?

 

Would I have been better off

doing the ho stroll in the Tenderloin

flipping tough and dry burgers at McDonald’s

picking vegetables in the fields

and not knowing any different?

 

Is it too late to

return my diplomas

because they didn’t result

in a good job?

 

It doesn’t matter if

the economy is robust or busted

or if my résumé sparkles like a storm

of if I charm them with my wit

or if I know/fuck the right people,

because

I’m the least employable person on Earth.

 

12:20 AM

Twenty minutes since

Midnight, and the jack-hammer

Of tiptoeing mice

Has already woken up

The woman who lives next door.

 

Her olive skin sweats

As she reaches for her gun

She can hear footsteps

Approach, approach, approach and

It is happening again.

 

Her brain is China

And fear: the Yangtze River

Racked with memories

Of a vocation gone wrong

Why did she have to go there?

 

Inches from the gun

The doorbell rings, and she grabs

And aims at the door

But the magazine is bare

And the doorbell’s still ringing.

 

“Go away, bastard!”

She bellows. “I hate you and

I never want to see

You again!” She hears a key

enter the lock and she screams.

 

“Honey, it’s okay.”

Her husband enters, holding

Some medicine from

The nearby Walgreens. She slumps

Like a thud back into bed.

 

“I’m having those dreams

Again,” she sights. “This damn post-

traumatic stress… thing.

I told them not to send me

There. I told them not to! Damn!”

 

“Honey, you had no

Choice,” her husband says as

he pours her some tea.

Beer and Corduroy

The rooster that is my clock radio caws at six in the morning.

“O mother of Goddess on a wheel,” I groan.

I shouldn’t have drunken that life-size stein of beer last night.

And why the hell am I seeing Atlantis outside my window?

No, that’s the Transamerica Pyramid.

Some days, I hate Christmas.

I don’t mind the frost-bitten wind or the orgy of the damned that is Black Friday or KOIT 96.5 FM playing carols around the clock or even watching the drag show known as Christmas Eve from St. Peter’s Basilica.

I just hate not having a friend to share it with.

I remember the first gift I got as a kid: the book Corduroy and the plush toy manifestation therein.

I don’t know what happened to that book or that toy.

For all I know, both could have disappeared into the Pacific or Atlantic.

Wait.

I have a box of boyhood baubles in my closet.

That fucking beer… and it wasn’t even the good shit from Germany.

I don’t even drink beer.

Here we are – my Corduroy bear and book.

Like me, beaten by life, but resilient.