Everybody hates me
Yes they do
Everybody hates me
And so do you
You think I’d be used to it
All the hate
You think I’d be used to it
Not feeling so great
But it always feels fresh
Yes it always feels new
It always stings
Thus endeth the review
At the dry erase board
Is where I can be found
Diagramming “Story”
The students make no sound
Undeterred, I continue
I explain “Rising Action”
Later, I’ll quiz them
They will define to my satisfaction
Rising Action is crucial to their story
All it means is “things get harder”
If they would just listen
Their writing would be smarter
But listen they don’t
Because they do hate me
And I hear them joke
Online they will rate me
My scores would be bad
But it isn’t my fault
So the feedback must be taken
With a big grain of salt
On and on I diagram
I need a new dry erase marker
I haven’t even gotten to Character
Because every journey needs an embarker
But their disinterest is rising
For their attention I must now wheedle
I feel like Jesus’ camel
Squeezing through the eye of a needle
All this makes me ask
Why did God me forsake
That I am stuck teaching
The day before winter break
But God has mercy
For soon the class bell rings
And as they trudge out the door
My heart practically sings
Down the hallway
And up the stairs
Past the security guard
Who I don’t think cares
So with a smile on my face
I get in my car
The key in ignition
I drive fast and far
There’s a watering hole
Between here and there
A corner dive with a bartender
An Irish lass so comely and fair
A quick and impromptu stop
Nothing big nothing major
I’m so sure it won’t be long
On my life I’m willing to wager
I remember to my chagrin
The place is cash only
But there’s an ATM in the corner
It is never lonely
I peruse the selection
A spicy rye or a peated scotch
The booze at this dive bar
Really is top notch
I treat myself to one
Which becomes three, then four, then nine or ten
I throw the cash on the bar and as I leave
The bartender says “Come again”
I walk the two miles home
Because drunk driving is for losers
It takes me half an hour
It’s good exercise for us boozers
At home I collapse
My spirit is drained
I lie on my back
My expression pained
The dog looks at me
Then is back fast asleep
Chasing all the rabbits
In her dreams so deep
On the floor I am resigned to stay
Until family arrives
When I make up a lie
If my spirit survives
The lie is this
“The car broke down
It’s at the mechanics
Just over in the next town”
The lie might have worked
I might have been scot free
If only it wasn’t for
My very smart family
For they remember
They surely do
All the times I’ve said that
While smelling like whiskey, too
So they step over and around me
To their own separate rooms
I stay on the floor
For the nonce, it’s my tomb
Everybody hates me
Yes they do
Everybody hates me
And now my family does too
My friend: we don’t hate you, your wife and son don’t either, but you’re in a spiral where you want to think they do bc, if they did, it would match how you feel about yourself. Shrink talk here, but those guys are right a bunch of the time. Been there. You know what the big piece is, though? *you* have the key, the power to control how they see you and how you see you. Stop the booze, the self-destruction. Now. If you got here by belonging to a program, go to a meeting. Now. If you have a therapist, call him/her. Now. I love you. Now.
You're a good rhymer / but I'll tell you what / your family they love you / you're just in a rut / When you feel this way / it feel so real / but feelings change / revolve like a wheel. xo