21st Century Problems: Sissy THAT Adderall (Part 1) (#201) (Louis Toliver Jr- Austin, TX)

“Mr. Boudreaux!” Mrs. Nunns shouted. “Hello?”

“I’m depressed?” Did I just imagine a doctor’s visit? I came out of my mind and realized I was still at Richard E. Nixon Junior High School. I looked at my clothes. Yes, I was still dressed like Justin Bieber. Wait, Mr. Boudreaux was me. Trey.

“Excuse me?” Nunns was becoming furious. “You are your son are next to perform. What is the song?”

I looked over to Ben, also still dressed like a mini-Justin Bieber. Something wasn’t right. I grabbed him and pulled him to the side. “What Bieber song should we do?”

“I don’t have Bieber fever. I hate him. He’s a sissy,” Ben started picking his nose while staring off at Terri who was watching her girlfriend and her kid dance to “No Rain” by Blind Melon dressed as bumble bees.

“Ben. One. Sissy is not a nice word. Two. WTF!? What are we going to do? I’ve only studied Justin Bieber dance moves. I can’t focus,” I looked over to Terri who looked over to me and smiled and nodded. That man-bitch, I thought. I wasn’t going to lose to Terri’s crazy bee girlfriend.

“One. Sissy isn’t a bad word. RuPaul says it,” Ben said with certainty. “Two. My buddy, Russell sales Adderall,” and out of the air Russell appeared backstage.

“How many you need?” Russell came from behind a curtain. He had a Prodigy t-shirt on with facial hair and Vans with carpenter jeans. Was he a 12 year-old too? I wondered.

Ben looked at me. I looked at Ben. “Just one, please.”

“That’ll be ten bucks.” Russell held his fist out and dropped the pill into my hand.

“Ten bucks?” I was flabbergasted by this little drug dealer.

“Yeah, they’re 30s. Time release,” Russell was serious.

I gave him the ten bucks and he disappeared behind the curtain. I looked at Ben. He looked at him. I took the pill.

“Wow. You took all of that?” Ben laughed.

“What’s your song!” Nunns kinda pushed.

“Let’s Hear for the Boy! By Deniece Williams!” I wasn’t about to be out-showed by some bumble bees. I'm Footloose, baby.

Comments

Come Hither (Annette Redmond Walters - Lafayette, LA)

I meant it not this way but the tears just flow and my makeup smearing all the more, leaving behind that familiar filthy residue. I may have begun to drive myself away, dragging you down as well. But it's done, I've flipped the switch and now it's dark once more. How painful is the music to my ears, I can't stand to be alone in it, yet here I am again. I pray you fly back and safely and warmly to me, though I fear I've dug the grave too deeply. As the dirt shifts within my soul, I choke on those loving words I'd meant for you. All the fragments of light I see becoming smaller and I wish to be near you in your embrace that might make me feel the warmth I'm missing. And in reality, I doubt I'd breathe another breath without you. So come hither and quickly soothe my dying heart, you are the only cure I know. I cry and cry again, come hither to heal and love me. Come hither and help me dry my tears.

Let That Fucker Burn (John Chenvert - Napoleonville, LA)

Let that fucker burn. Let the fire crackle like the whips once did— like bone meeting leather, like screams swallowed by the trees. Let the white columns crumble to ash. Not as tragedy— but as truth, unearthing itself from beneath generations of silence. Nottoway is not a mansion. It’s a mausoleum. A lie carved in stone to honor the hands that held the whip, not the backs that bore it. They called it the “White Castle.” A place of beauty. A place for weddings, for photo ops, for pretending that horror can be made elegant if the curtains match the guilt. But no paint can cover what happened there. Blood doesn’t wash out with white linens. And pain doesn’t forget just because you renamed it history. I’m not Black. And I won’t pretend to carry that weight. But I also won’t ignore it. My people—the Guanches—were taken too. Our language silenced. Our land stolen. Our names nearly erased. So yes, I know colonization. Yes, I know what it means to be disappeared. But I also know this— my skin ...

Lunatic (Lily Lechler - New Orleans, LA)

“Lunacy” comes from the moon, Who cycles through brilliance and darkness Bipolarity’s patterns are not so easily assumed Opposites not so well harnessed Who cycles through brilliance and darkness? The girl who sits in bed, wrestling with Opposites. Not so well harnessed As she thought, her brain gives reason the slip The girl who sits in bed, wrestling with Her body, depressed, her thoughts manic. As she thought, her brain gave reason the slip And gives the gift of life in a dreamlike panic. Her body depressed her thoughts. Manic Lunacy comes from the moon And gives the gift of life in a dreamlike panic Bipolarity’s patterns are not so easily assumed

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