Writing Self Portrait: Read: Mindless Self Indulgence

[Raiha]

[COLOR="DarkOrchid"][FONT="Times New Roman"]Things got off to a flying start the first week of my new school semester in my Creative Writing class wherein the professor sadly informed us that the department chair is making us doing an 'evaluative assignment'. We're supposed to write 250-500 words about ourselves and make 'interesting things' happen. The professor told us that he didn't really mind if we completely phoned it in, because he thought it was stupid too.

So here's my small contribution to the cause. And after you've read my poem, it'd be super if you wrote one of your own. Has to be about yourself, 250-500 words, and also has to avoid long sweeping metaphors, rhymes, and cliches.[/FONT][/COLOR]

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[size=3][FONT="System"][COLOR="RoyalBlue"]I am standing between two trees made of leather.
One is pink and black and spread upwards in twelve braided branches.
Another is a single line, stretching upwards out of view.
I love to talk about myself because everyone else is positively dull.
Underneath me is the warm body of my lieutenant boyfriend.
He smells like Old Spice and expensive hair gel because he’s into manscaping.
We sleep together even though we’re not married.
I’m sure my parson father would disapprove, even fly into a rage if he found out.
He ministers to the local church that stands across the street from a low class sex shop.
People sneak into the store at night, during the day they can just pretend that they’re going to the Mexican restaurant next door.
They think they have to hide, but I don’t blame them much.
I prefer to shop online to furnish my sick fetishes.
I love writing things that make people’s heart rate go up.
It’s fun to bait and switch the liberal professors who think they’re on a divine mission from God to brainwash young students. She tells them it’s their duty.
Sometimes I fantasize about being in a class with a conservative professor instead, just to shake things up.
But most of the time my hopes end up cruelly dashed, and I have to figure out if the professor actually has a sense of humor about politics or if he’s an insufferable bore.
Either way I can’t help loving it.
Every Sunday I go to church and sing with the worship team.
The songs bounce effortlessly through my throat, and I’m learning to send my voice higher without letting it crack and snap back down.
Sometimes people ask me how I can balance algolagnia with abject worship of Jesus Christ.
I tell them that unlike my politics, my religion is none of their bloody business. Most of the time they get the message. But sometimes they’re one of those angry screaming atheists who want to foist their anti-God on the rest of us.
Surprisingly, most of those atheists aren’t actual atheists at all, but are just pissed that God actually didn’t give them cake and candies. They still believe in Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny.
When I was seven, my dad told me that Santa Claus died out back in the 60s of a massive myocardial infarction.
When I was ten my mom served jugged hare on Easter Sunday.
I used to look for the man in the moon when I was little, but as I grew up I figured that he might have just retired.
So if I have a religion now, it’s probably unrecognizable from the religion that my father administers to the masses. Not that I mind much. If there’s one thing I hate, it’s people who tell others they’re going to hell.
And by the way.
Go to hell. [/COLOR][/FONT][/size]