What Ticks in My Twisted-Cone Mind Poetry Slam: One Job...May Change My Life Scholarship Slam - CLOSED Comments Login or register to post a comment. JaduSpeak 5 years ago I don’t exist. You won’t find me on TV or in the well-paged-through back issues of waiting room magazines. I’m not in the paperbacks or hardcovers or in between the static on some oft-forgotten AM station. I’m a phase. I’m just a way to beg attention, so teenage girls can appeal to boys who think casual lesbianism is oh-so-hot and teenage boys can still say “No homo” while doing things that, I’m sorry, can be very, very homo. You know, I still haven’t told my parents I don’t exist. In my mind, it’s none of their business, but I can tell you exactly what they’d do if they ever found out. My dad would hypocritically thump the Bible (sorry, Bible, you don’t deserve this abuse) and pass off some self-patented sexism guised thinly as concern for my well-being, and maybe a few insults if he felt feisty. My mom? She’d say something about how she didn’t understand “that lifestyle,” but she would love me as I was. I guess some strained tolerance is better than nothing. I’ve told a few friends that I don’t exist. They don’t seem to mind, so either they weren’t surprised or it doesn’t affect whatever opinion they have of me. I suppose it helps that some of them don’t exist, too. It’s nice to have company. You’re wondering about me now, aren’t you? What could I possibly not-be if I don’t exist? Well, you see, in a world where people usually ask for either chocolate or vanilla, I’m the person that asks for the twisted cone (or strawberry, just to see whether the ice-cream guy will bother to bend down and check). But if I walk down the street enjoying my twisted ice cream and some passerby happen to only see the chocolate side or the vanilla side, the questions and comments are inevitable. “Didn’t you like chocolate before?” “Oh, shame, I thought you were a vanilla type.” And to them, I reply my well-worn refrain, the one very few people seem to understand: “Why can’t I like both?” And the answer from them, the hackneyed killjoy answer, the one few are bigoted enough to say in person: “You want too much.” “Why can’t you just be happy with one?” My friends, there are simply too many flavors in life to partake in just one. So I’ll keep not-existing as a phase, an attention-seeking tactic, a condemnation and abomination. But damn, twisted cones do make it delicious.