Thanks, Chuck. (A Slam Poem.)

“Nothing of me is original. I am the combined effort of everyone I’ve ever known.”
Once on Chuck Palahniuk’s paper,
these words embedded themselves into my mind,
instantly provoking an immense amount of thought…
 and I am thankful.

Every morning I rise,
head to the bathroom and
brush my teeth with “Arm and Hammer Advanced White” toothpaste.
Day in and
day out, my routine does not falter.
She does not know, but this part of me exists
because of her
and I am thankful.

Nightly, usually without fail,
a steaming cup of tea
slides down my throat, warming me
from the inside out,
soothing my soul in preparation for rest
until the following sunrise.
He does not know, but this part of me exists
because of him
and I am thankful.

When I want nothing more
than to escape the world…
or when stress levels rise to
a climax
that I can no longer bear…
or I solely want time
to clear my mind or relax…
I head straight to the beach,
no matter the season
nor time.
They do not know, but this part of me exists
because of each of them
and I am thankful.

When emotions
or inspiration
or anything worth remembering
consumes my mind,
I race to my journal to immortalize said feeling
in a poetic masterpiece,
unique to my own hand
and my own mind.
He does not know, but this part of me exists
because of him
and I am thankful.

And the book that I hold dear to me…
the one that has advanced
 from a composition notebook
filled with scribbles, scratches, and colored pen marks
to a hard-cover journal
filled with nothing but
beautiful lines of script, composed
by a fine black pen…
Words that were derived from my heart
and my mind
always finish with my name, signed.
He does not know, but this part of me exists
because of him
and I am thankful.

They do not know, but

I wear slippers
instead of socks
while in my room
because of her.

My bed remains
neatly fashioned
if I am not occupying the sheets
because of them.

I tend to travel
 just five miles over
the speed limit,
subconsciously pushing my luck,
because of him.

I fill my ears with
country,
hip hop,
alternative,
reggae,
and the occasional
 “scream-o” music
because of him, her, him, her, and him.

Every mannerism,
hobby,
borderline obsession,
or routine
that is a part of my life,
no matter how miniscule
or irrelevant,
exists because someone,
somewhere
has introduced me
to each action or thought.

And for that,
I am eternally grateful,
and forever thankful.
Thanks, Chuck.


*Amber