I went to the We The Kings concert for Halloween. I could barely move. The crowd had me trapped to the point my nose rubbed boobs and my hand brushed bums. You may brutally judge me, but I will full-heartedly admit that I loved every moment of the concert. I loved the way my ears were ringing. I loved the awkward moments with the boy on my right. And all the sudden I was 19 again and I was going to all the concerts again, being a “wanna-be” punk, and thinking I was really cool. And I was thinking about “that boy” again – the one with the white stripe in his hair.He was the ultimate “punk.” I imagined our studded-bracelet-and-dyed-black-hair-lives would mesh into the so-called wild lifestyle that would keep me close enough to the edge but still within the terms of righteousness – ya know, exactly how romance goes! I had this temporary stage of what I considered rebellion. I was a punk, and a brat (I can definitely still be a brat), and I used a lot of four-letter words. Thus, I was the ultimate rebel! ;) Anyhow…I know Halloween has passed. Mostly, I wanted to share my poem.
White Stripes
There I was again in my pink tights
My tattoo along the curve of my neck
They inked “bad girl” on my skin
The sweat was neither sweet nor salty
The crowd smelled of painted faces
We shook our fists into the spotted lights
An orange haired boy held the mike tightly
He sang to the jumping reckless fans
And the air shifted with the rising emotion
As I glanced at my friend my eyes blurred
Random elbows clipped my nose ring
The sting brought pleasant laughter
And I laughed while the orange haired boy sang
I wanted to know that boy
He tugged at my lagging control
He left me completely vulnerable
I like your hair
Colored it to mine
We can know this song
The rocking bodies are asking your name
They pass around the lyrics in matchless tones
That boy is writing a note in my mind
I am wandering back to where you sat
I am remembering the next scene
I am listening as you open the door
I am reading your handwritten stories
I am saying this was exactly right
I am guessing your next hidden look
I am lingering under the streetlight
And as always I am holding out for you
