The Presentation

It’s all about the presentation.

The way you present your poetry can make or break the poem.

A poem written by a below-average 4 year old can sound beautiful coming out of your mouth.

And the most gorgeous, ethereal poem could sound like shit coming out of mine.

The presentation has to be perfect.

It has to be special, memorable.

I have that same repetitive rhythm everyone uses when reading poetry.

It sucks all of the life out of it.

It’s all about the presentation

My grade relies on this presentation.

Don’t worry! It’s not a billion people, its 23!

It’s not a big deal, as long as I don’t start stuttering or forget to read my notes.

It’s only 50% of my grade.

My grades do not define me.

It’s all about the presentation.

My grades define me.

But I’ll say that they don’t anymore!

I’ll tell people, “I got over it in 4th grade. I’m not a perfectionist anymore!” 

My B’s can’t hurt me anymore! 

Or my C…Or my F.

“You just need to apply yourself!”

I’m sorry! I am! I’m sorry!

I’m sorry for my outburst. I won’t overthink it any longer.

It’s just one comment!
Who cares that it’s, “not what was expected” of me!

Not me! I’m smarter than that!

It’s all about the presentation.

If I’m so smart, then why haven’t I dropped the act?

Why do I still act like I’m a boy?

Everyone knows I’m a girl.

I certainly present like one.

Everyone can see the curve of my “moobs”, they can hear when my voice randomly raises an octave.

I need to do better.

Maybe learn to actually deepen my voice so I don’t sound like The Chippetes.

I need to prove my presentation deserves an A.

Convince them all I truly am a boy.

It’s all about the presentation.

I passed my presentation with flying colors!

The rainbow flew right past them, in one ear and out the other.

No one even knew it ever happened.

I’ll probably glue the grading rubric into my journal next to my deepest, most personal, disgusting, emotional, vile poem ever, with a little “good job!” sticker on top left corner.
On the rubric, there are 2 opportunities for a grade.

The first one, “Never let them find out. Never let them see.” 

I can never let them know what goes on inside or out. 

I could never let them hear me practicing my presentation!

I can never let them know what happened last night.

The second one is, “If they find out, cover it up.” 

And I think I did a pretty damn good job.

I almost blew my cover, but I just told them, “Oh, don’t worry! I was just having a bad night, I’m good now!” 

And it works?

No one worries about me. How do I know?

No one ever checks up on me.

Not one, “Seriously, how are you?” or “I saw you crying during breakfast this morning, what happened?” 

And I can live with that.

I put so much work into this project, I will not let it be foiled by one little question.

I even gave it a title.

“The closet”

It has a double meaning too! Extra credit!!

The closet is where I’ve been for 14 years!
It’s also where I put all of my emotions for no one to ever see. 

It’s where I have all of my mental breakdowns and gay crises!

And no one will ever know!


If you’re actually reading this, please check up on me.

Give me a long hug and remind me that you’re here for me.

Tell me you love me and you’re proud of me.

Or don’t.

It just gives me a higher grade. After all,

It’s all about the presentation.


This poem is about: 
My community


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