Irately Addressed to Madeleine Kemper

[elucreh.livejournal.com]

Title: Irately Addressed to Madeleine Kemper
Rating: G
Notes: This is for the...well, non-existent...fandom for the Ellen Conford book "Seven Days to a Brand-New You", a poem written to Maddy Kemper, the protagonist. Now, actually, I like this book as a parody of teen chick lit and as a spunky little story. But one day the girl just got on my nerves...


Irately Addressed to Madeleine Kemper



You know—

There are some things about you that I find really

Really

Really

Really

Aggravating.



Why do you keep saying

(not only that you’re

dull

drab

medium

sparrowish

etc.

but)



You



Wouldn’t

Want

To

Be

Weird

Or

Anything.



What on earth’s wrong with weird?

The kind of woman you ought to be is weird

Flagrantly

Virtuously

Unselfconsciously

Flamboyantly weird.



What kind of norm are you trying to set?

Don’t you know the products of your fears

Are anorexia,

Depression,

Psychological disorders

Death

Spiritual,

Mental,

Physical, you name it.



What kind of individuality can you get

From refusing to be weird?

My best friend says, “The only Happy Medium is in A Wrinkle in Time.”

And, really, have you ever read a magazine where it turned out that

Those people at the “other end of the spectrum”

The ones that double-dyed and popularity-contested their way through life

Were truly, deep-down-happy?



The only way to be happy

Is to refuse to be a medium

Refuse to be

Not-too-(quote unquote)-spectacular,

Not-too-weird.



And while you’re at it

Stop striving to be (quote unquote) spectacular.

You won’t make it, more than likely

And if you do, you’ll find

The proof of the pudding’s in the eatin.



Step forward and embrace your inner bozo

Clown

Wierdo

Loony

Madcap

So-far-from-run-of-the-mill-it-might-as-well-be-orbit-of-the-planet

Self



You’ll be happier.

I promise you.



If that means…you possessed woman…

That you tango down the south stairs in a green velvet dress

with a rose in your mouth

and tell him, “Hey, gringo,” then you do it.

If it merely translates to dancing

when the wind blows too strong to not be calling

Do that.



But don’t stand there in front of the mirror,

Deciding your nose isn’t too horrible

And telling me



You



Wouldn’t

Want

To

Be

Too

Weird

Or

Anything.



To tell the truth,

“Mrs. Adam Holmquist”

I really think

That you’re the one

Needs the good shrink.