nycstreetpoet

::prose poem::

We were the kids who wore their hats sideways; everybody knew where it was at. Most of us, me especially, had cultivated an almost religious hate of people we referred to as "poseurs:" that is to say, anyone who wasn't one of us, but behaved as though he or she was. This was distressing, as it upset the pecking order. I wore the pants in this gang; I wasn't about to let some pissant with a fucking pocket chain dick me out of my hard earned organized crime. This was seventh grade: you were either me, or you knew me, or you were dead to me, and therefore dead.
-The Life and Times of Joseph Nathan

The high point of my life: schoolyard king in seventh grade.
You could watch the other kids look at me just a little bit too long, wondering whether it was worth it to challenge me or not. It would be a gutsy move: play your cards right and you would sit atop my throne while I filled your chalice with more sugar water.
I was the kid who inspired rebellion in my followers; they went from servants to admirers to conspirators.
When the bell chimed for me, angry fists found my face, I was thrown into objects much heavier than myself, ODJ was in full effect: Operation: Destroy Joseph.



Two weeks later I had recovered enough from my concussion to return to school.
What had been knocked into me, at last, was sense. You can't fight the world, I heard myself thinking, because the world is armed much better than you are, and it will defend itself if threatened.

I returned to school with perspective, and I intended to keep everything within the scope of that lens for as long as possible.