Poetry, Groupies, Crushes & Stalkers......

Okay.... I have a friend. She's about 5'9/5"10 ish, a deep mocha with red undertones, brown eyes, clear complexion with the exception of an extreme battle with eczema along her chinline... She hates taking pictures, because no matter the angle, the condition, she believes, is similar to a five o'clock shadow. At times she's confusing, 'cuz she has some distinct feminine ways, with tomboyish qualities, devilish grin, and can carry a good conversation, when she wants to. On the poetry scene she dresses like a frat boy or a trendy metrosexual, for the most part, being fond of Abercrombie and Fitch jeans, expensive, trendy t-shirts, Banana Republic linen, men's Tommy Hilfiger dress shirts, and flip flops... She's abandoning the idea of bandanas, having only worn them because her dark brown locks with cinnamon ends were in that 'tween stage, not quite shoulder length, not short enough. She's digging on one person... Really digging on that person. And she's getting volatilely tired of the crushing.. If you're still crushing, and not getting ANYTHING IN RETURN, it's not a game.
I'm not hating on her. The sister's got a cute thing going, but she's not that fcking cute. And while she's peculiar, or as a friend labels her, quirky, she is not that fcking interesting, either...
I know, because she's me....
My life has changed dramatically since the inception of this spoken word "thing." But after, having spent a week in Baltimore, having contact with only my family, and a handful of others, I realized something very important.. I didn't miss _________, well, a lot of things.
Poetry has been a blessing, I have established at least two lifelong friendships based on mutual honesty, trust and respect (Langston and SISTERMENTORFRIEND), as well as the building of solid relationships with others. I have also lost people and at times myself, along the way. I am reminded why I stopped writing in undergrad. Everyone has their own agenda. I am not that competitive, nor is my ego tied into this shit. Yet, to paraphrase a sister from another web-blog, a dirty book bag, a notebook full of words, the ability to rhyme, and the esteem to get upon a stage and spit your thoughts to an audience, does not make you a poet. Everyone is not and cannot be a "successful poet". I like to write, and have been told I'm good at it. I think it's easy for me to do to some degree, but not just creatively. Yet, I majored in English, in addition to graduate courses. That could make a difference.
To quote one of my favorite movies, don't laugh, The Way We Were.
"In a way (s)he was like the country (s)he lived in. Everything came too easily to (her) him...but at least (s)he knew it. About once a month, (s)he worried that (s)he was a fraud. But almost everyone (s)he knew was more fraudulent."
Hubbel Gardiner, The All American Smile
See, it's all a game. No matter what they say, it's a game from the slam to the open mic. Most are prostituting for points, if not tricking for sex, money, fame, adoration, self-esteem, acceptance... It's an ugly realization. Think about it. There are some huge casualties as well. One is this "creation" of YOU, which is not even a decent body double. People, and sometimes you, begin to believe your own press. Bad choice. I refuse to subscribe to the paper and work diligently on not reading it, see I miss my privacy. And I want it back. I miss being able to walk into a poetry venue and listen to poetry without someone reading into it. An example, "she didn't speak to me, _________." Well if my mouth appears broken, what the fck is wrong with yours? Speak and then find out if I'm not speaking or not. It would never cross your mind that I never walked thru the audience talking to people, even at the old spot. Remember how I used to wave and hang around the rail? Of course not, that would be too simple, or just, the truth.
I am not interested in "fcking" nor have I "fcked" anyone on the poetry scene. If another bi curious female/lesbian or poet comes onto me or asks another question about me I am going to fcking scream. Even if I were available, I would not be interested in anyone on the POETRY SCENE (NO POETS, NO AUDIENCE MEMBERS). You don't know me. What you see on stage is NOT A GOOD REPRESENTATION OF WHO I AM. I am neurotically insecure, introverted, and I want what you want, someone to like and maybe even, love me for who I am. In spite of and despite my best efforts, I can be crazy. A side note: I have seen a few work, but they keep their socialization out of the watchful eye of the public....
There is a fine line between a crush and stalking (I feel you Mo). There is a fine line between curiosity and being nosy. There is an even finer line between what you think, what I think and the reality of a situation. Or better yet my life. I am older than most on the scene. I have a career, not a gig to hold me until this poetry thing kicks off (I have no intention on the poetry thing kicking off, I want retirement. I will support your cause.) I have a mortgage with no room-mates, and have a life that is far more important than the 3-4 hours I spend on the "scene". And lately, the viciousness of the 3-4 hours is far greater than the rewards.
While in B-More I learned or remembered.
Lesson 1: It's better to be seen than heard. No, I'm not going to come in at 10:00 pm while people are on the mic, walk thru a crowd to speak to you. If you are on the side, at the DJ table, or in the back, I can always talk to you.
Lesson 2: I have someone and somethings in my life outside of those 3-4 hours a week. I picked up habits called a job, a life, and an involvement. It occupies my time and my mind. I go to poetry to relax, not date, gossip or pick up anyone or thing (and believe me sometimes there is no difference).
Lesson 3: (the most important one) I got this from my Grand when I was a child... "If you spent more thinking about/working on _____________, than on ____________, you would be successful and could get anything you want out of life.
When I was a CHILD a person would fill the second blank.... People, I am no longer a CHILD.
Lesson 4: If you have to ask me about this, than we probably were never cool in the first place. I don't want to hear anything about anybody unless it's something good. And I don't want you to tell me anything anybody said about me... 'cuz I don't care.
Lesson 5: I want to live happy, die happy and I want to become a better person in between.
Lesson 6: When I told an associate about the poetry scene when I first came on she believed instantly that I had made a lot of friends. I told her then, as I continue to believe. A common interest and a common meeting place does not make us friends.