Poem # 2 for 2-16

(attempt at performance poem, which morphed into something else)

Stand up

I have an urge to feel what it is like on stage,
watching the faces below contort in laughter
wondering if that guy’s face looks just like this during sex
or if that woman knows she has lipstick smeared all over her teeth.

I want to be adored, told what a funny bitch I am.
Not crude and bizarre like Sarah Silverman waxing on about her grandmother’s vagina
Or goofy and endearing like Ellen dancing onstage.
Or cynical, like Roseanne grabbing her crotch and spitting at the end of the anthem.
I don’t wanna hear, “Oh, she’s funny. For a girl.”

I want people bent over, gasping, laughing so loud I can’t even go on.
Hoping my show will last for hours.
Texting their friends during my bit, “omg … shes so funny!!”

I want my family to admit I am hilarious, not caustic.
And to make that horrible Vatican-I-Catholic-Priss at my work to laugh
in spite of the stick in her ass.

So when I find the courage, I will stand up there.
Promise me you’ll be there? And that you'll be laughing.