Poetry: The Brag, I Live


I Live

A brag poem, written for Poetry Boot Camp.

I’m not supposed to be here.
I’m only 15 and an average student.
Broken Home
Missing Father
Alcoholic mother
Working to pay my way.
Kids like me
don’t get scholarships over seas.
Until now.
I’m in the middle of nowhere,
Grimslov College in Sweden.
Which is somewhere really
When I think about it.
A holding place with 50 others
from around the world.
I’m in orientation
Waiting to be set free and
chomping at the bit.
The scent of Polo Cologne
And expensive cigars
Sends me over an edge
That I never recover.
I can close my eyes
And still drink deeply
The scent of a man.
Leather, Wood
Tobacco and moss
Mingled with sweat,
fills every waking pour
And I believe I’m finally alive.
I haven’t forgotten her
Half woman
Half child.
Sheepishly,
I remember him.
Eyes so blue they melt the soul
A countenance so kind
That girls swoon.
Yale Boy: A sheep among wolves.
He is wise beyond his years
He satisfies nothing immediate
And points me rather to life.
There will always be boys.
This year is a gift.
Live it.
The fact that I am only 15
And he is 18
May be aiding his wisdom.
Oh, what a year to live.
I live a year of museums and art
Of the pomp and circumstance of the Nobel Awards
And meeting the king
Even if I do accidentally call him short.
I live and swim in the Baltic Sea
Tumbling backwards down a hill
When I my host family strips nude
In front of me.
I live trying wine and Italian food
In Stockholm with friends
Only to throw it up while
Watching The French Lieutenants’ Woman
Because I’m too young to live so quickly.
Stranded
With no money or cell

I live hitchhiking

Back to my town.
Picked up by Iranians,
I live and lie like a rug
convincing them I’m from Australia
and not an American.
I live beneath the Northern lights
wearing only baby doll jammies and ski boots,
because at 16
on top of the tallest mountain I’ve ever seen,
that seemed the appropriate attire.
I live to face down a drunken lumberjack
who doesn’t yet know he’s in drag and tries to kiss me,
by kicking him in the shins with those same ski boots.
I live to see the boys
who weren’t supposed to be in our cabin
jump out of the second story window
like lemmings off a cliff when I run to be rescued.
I live to see Duffy
foolishly stay behind
and receive a black eye
defending my honor.
I live to come home again and chomp at the bit.
I live many years
Through careers
Through marriage
Through sickness and health.
I live in the middle of nowhere Oklahoma
which is somewhere really.
Raising a family
That’s almost grown.
I live and I wonder what’s next for me.
I remember the scent of a man,
wise beyond his years,
and it does nothing to satisfy the immediate.
It just points me to life.
 There will always be boys.
This life is a gift.
Live it.
This post written by Deana O’Hara for Redemption’s Heart. All rights reserved.

5 thoughts on “Poetry: The Brag, I Live”

  1. I like the words, but I didn’t see much “bragging” going on. Unless I misunderstand the meaning of the word, it is not just about “self”, it is “my greatest self”. I want to see you say what WE see in you…a project under construction; a very funny lady; wise; a FRIEND; God’ child. You are not in the middle of “nowhere”..you are where God planted you. And you are blooming! Look at yourself through someone else’s eyes and write what is seen. This speech is free of charge…LOL.

    Like

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