Irately Addressed to Madeleine Kemper
Title: Irately Addressed to Madeleine Kemper
Rating: G
Notes: This is for the...well, non-existent...fandom for the Ellen Conford book "Seven Days to a Brand-New You", a poem written to Maddy Kemper, the protagonist. Now, actually, I like this book as a parody of teen chick lit and as a spunky little story. But one day the girl just got on my nerves...
Irately Addressed to Madeleine Kemper
You know-
There are some things about you that I find really
Really
Really
Really
Aggravating.
Why do you keep saying
(not only that you’re
dull
drab
medium
sparrowish
etc.
but)
You
Wouldn’t
Want
To
Be
Weird
Or
Anything.
What on earth’s wrong with weird?
The kind of woman you ought to be is weird
Flagrantly
Virtuously
Unselfconsciously
Flamboyantly weird.
What kind of norm are you trying to set?
Don’t you know the products of your fears
Are anorexia,
Depression,
Psychological disorders
Death
Spiritual,
Mental,
Physical, you name it.
What kind of individuality can you get
From refusing to be weird?
My best friend says, “The only Happy Medium is in A Wrinkle in Time.”
And, really, have you ever read a magazine where it turned out that
Those people at the “other end of the spectrum”
The ones that double-dyed and popularity-contested their way through life
Were truly, deep-down-happy?
The only way to be happy
Is to refuse to be a medium
Refuse to be
Not-too-(quote unquote)-spectacular,
Not-too-weird.
And while you’re at it
Stop striving to be (quote unquote) spectacular.
You won’t make it, more than likely
And if you do, you’ll find
The proof of the pudding’s in the eatin.
Step forward and embrace your inner bozo
Clown
Wierdo
Loony
Madcap
So-far-from-run-of-the-mill-it-might-as-well-be-orbit-of-the-planet
Self
You’ll be happier.
I promise you.
If that means…you possessed woman…
That you tango down the south stairs in a green velvet dress
with a rose in your mouth
and tell him, “Hey, gringo,” then you do it.
If it merely translates to dancing
when the wind blows too strong to not be calling
Do that.
But don’t stand there in front of the mirror,
Deciding your nose isn’t too horrible
And telling me
You
Wouldn’t
Want
To
Be
Too
Weird
Or
Anything.
To tell the truth,
“Mrs. Adam Holmquist”
I really think
That you’re the one
Needs the good shrink.
Rating: G
Notes: This is for the...well, non-existent...fandom for the Ellen Conford book "Seven Days to a Brand-New You", a poem written to Maddy Kemper, the protagonist. Now, actually, I like this book as a parody of teen chick lit and as a spunky little story. But one day the girl just got on my nerves...
Irately Addressed to Madeleine Kemper
You know-
There are some things about you that I find really
Really
Really
Really
Aggravating.
Why do you keep saying
(not only that you’re
dull
drab
medium
sparrowish
etc.
but)
You
Wouldn’t
Want
To
Be
Weird
Or
Anything.
What on earth’s wrong with weird?
The kind of woman you ought to be is weird
Flagrantly
Virtuously
Unselfconsciously
Flamboyantly weird.
What kind of norm are you trying to set?
Don’t you know the products of your fears
Are anorexia,
Depression,
Psychological disorders
Death
Spiritual,
Mental,
Physical, you name it.
What kind of individuality can you get
From refusing to be weird?
My best friend says, “The only Happy Medium is in A Wrinkle in Time.”
And, really, have you ever read a magazine where it turned out that
Those people at the “other end of the spectrum”
The ones that double-dyed and popularity-contested their way through life
Were truly, deep-down-happy?
The only way to be happy
Is to refuse to be a medium
Refuse to be
Not-too-(quote unquote)-spectacular,
Not-too-weird.
And while you’re at it
Stop striving to be (quote unquote) spectacular.
You won’t make it, more than likely
And if you do, you’ll find
The proof of the pudding’s in the eatin.
Step forward and embrace your inner bozo
Clown
Wierdo
Loony
Madcap
So-far-from-run-of-the-mill-it-might-as-well-be-orbit-of-the-planet
Self
You’ll be happier.
I promise you.
If that means…you possessed woman…
That you tango down the south stairs in a green velvet dress
with a rose in your mouth
and tell him, “Hey, gringo,” then you do it.
If it merely translates to dancing
when the wind blows too strong to not be calling
Do that.
But don’t stand there in front of the mirror,
Deciding your nose isn’t too horrible
And telling me
You
Wouldn’t
Want
To
Be
Too
Weird
Or
Anything.
To tell the truth,
“Mrs. Adam Holmquist”
I really think
That you’re the one
Needs the good shrink.