K Ruckus is a spoken word artist from Austin, Texas and has been performing in poetry competitions for almost a decade. K Ruckus first caught a sliver of notoriety when national news medium “The Examiner” wrote a story and promoted his 2010 tour across the country reaching from Mesa, Arizona all the way to Indianapolis, Indiana. He has been sailing on that sliver ever since. K Ruckus hosted the first ever “Green Awareness Slam” at the 2010 National Poetry Slam. He is a weekly participant in the Austin Poetry Slam and a bi-monthly contributor to the Red Dirt Poetry Slam. K Ruckus enjoys Burritos, Science Fiction and the collected works of Andrew Dice Clay. www.kruckus.com.

Three Poems (January 20, 2011. Issue 24.)

Hello God?
It's me... Ruckus.

Hey God.
I miss you.
I miss you being a part of my life.
I miss talking to you every night,
and although you never said anything
back, you listening to me meant so much.
I miss crying to you. Sobbing to you,
when life got ugly, and all I could
do was demand explanations.
I miss joyfully thanking you for all
of my little close calls.
I miss screaming you name while I
was intimate so grateful you had made
the earth so I had a place to be intimate.

But I lost you.
Or you left.

Instead of falling asleep content with
your security as my blanket, now I'm
tucked in with uncertainty.
Back then, as a child, it was so easy.
There was good.
And there was evil.
There was heaven,
and there was hell.
The wicked and cruel were punished.
And the righteous, rewarded.
Things were black, or they were
white. But now the world is shades
of grey, and your definitions are no
longer relevant nor welcome.

I pleaded with God, begged for
anything, because when anything
was something I didn't have, I
would have accepted worse to prove
he was there.
I would have endured FIRE and
BRIMSTONE.
I would have taken on FLOODS
and PLAUGES for a sign my out
stretched arm isn't just reaching
for air, and my nightly prayers
aren't just floating to stars.

So call me a complainer,
But one-sided relationships have
never been my thing.
And my break up with God was
just like any other, with that silly
in transition phase where just
hearing the other persons name
could contort your insides, and
you just can't get them out of your
head....
But we did eventually return
each others things.
I returned his book, and his artifacts,
and I was returned my faith which I
decided was better served placed in
me.
Yes, now, if miracles are going to
happen I will MAKE them happen.
I don't need the threat or reward of an
afterlife to be a good person, I will
just be a good person.
And if God isn't around to love every
one, I will be around to love everyone,
with one random act of kindness at a
time, with free smiles and hugs thrown
in for as long as there is breath in my
body, because if there is no afterlife I
will make every fucking second count
by being accepting, by being fun, by
being emotional, and when I die,
I will be sated, laying in my casket
wrapped in my best suit, with a
knowing smile glued to my face under
a tombstone reading:

“Here lies an atheist -
All dressed up, and nowhere to go”

So I do miss you God.
But for my own selfish reasons, like
peace of mind, or fear that you may
have been the only one who could put
up with me.
But I'll be ok without you. I swear.

Barukh ata Adonai Eloheinu Melekh ha-olam,
Blessed are You, LORD, our God,
King of the universe,
Ani Mitga'age'a Elecha
I'll miss you.

Hoofwinked
(Previously published in Issue 3 of Borderline.)

I approached the wolf first.
I loved the wolf.
I loved him for being
Everything that I’m not.
I’ve always been a slow creature.
Dumpy, and clumsy.
The only thing I have is my words.
It’s widely known that pigs are the
Wisest of all the animals, it just
Doesn’t make us the best.
 
I stalked him.
The wolf was majestic, sleek,
Agile, toned body built to kill.
I would watch him from my
Brick and mortar windows.
Dazzling rubies drip from his
Pearly fangs, eating the inside of
A meal as a trophy not a trough.
I trembled as I opened my door that
Night, and shook as I approached him.
I was confused at the callous way he
Asked why he shouldn’t make me dessert.
Until then, I’d never considered myself food.
“Because I’m your biggest fan!”
I blurted out. “I love your work.”
And with a devilish grin, the wolf asked
Me where I might find other pigs.
Now, before you judge me,
You have to know,
I hate my fucking brothers.
I would consistently go to them,
Hoping for the best, but
Those two hogs only care for food
And sleep and wallowing in filth.
I wanted them to see their potential
As they gawked at me, saying I was
Betraying my nature.
Now, I’m not un-pig-triotic.
I just want more.
With my inheritance, I built a home
Instead of a hovel, laid brick,
Wiping the sweat from my brow
While they slept under their leaky roofs,
Wasting their money on slop.
I created more than any pig would have
Dared, so when the wolf ordered bacon,
I gladly served up my brothers in blankets.
Gave him the locations of their hay and sticks,
And even taught him to huff and puff.
I paced my home furiously that night
As I awaited the wolf’s return,
Salivating for the news that my mother’s
Mistakes were rectified, until I heard their
Terrified hooven arms pounding
And crashing at my door.
“Older brother, older brother, please
Let us come in.” And I gritted my teeth and
Thought to myself,
“Not by the hairs on my fucking chin.”
But I couldn’t let them keep running.
The wolf, for all their cries, must be close behind.
Faking mercy, I opened the door, allowed them in,
And listened to them squeal about their attacks.
I pretended not to hear the music of paws
On my roof as I knew the wolf would soon find
The only way into my home. He would be my
Own personal Santa Claus slithering down the
Chimney to give me the only gift I’ve ever wanted.
But a half open flue had caught him and
Saved my brothers momentarily.
They were shrill with fear.
I shrieked with delight as I locked the door.
Now, I was just as much of a hunter as the wolf was.
But you see, as I went to release the flue,
The wolf snapped its jaws at my arms.
See, he didn’t understand anymore. He was frenzied,
He was hungry, he didn’t know friend from food.
You can’t fight your nature. It flowed upon me in
That moment. I can’t be a wolf, and he can’t be a pig.
So I lit the fire and put the pot and boiled the water
And let that wolf fall into the fire, and we ate him.
Because a pig doesn’t hunt. A pig is fed.

One Foot in the Closet
One Foot in the Spotlight

To the guy who called me a faggot outside my favorite bar in Austin.
Thank you.

Here I was spending the last 24 years of my life believing I was straight. To think, every time I brushed the hair over my lovers ear and kissed her on the forehead was for NOTHING. All of those text messages, phone calls and “I love yous” were just a waste of time.
What a Faggot I must be.
I wear pink ALL the time, I treat women with respect, my iPod constantly shuffles Brittany, Gaga and Fall Out Boy, and to your dismay I have NO problem hugging a guy friend on the street when he's had the worst day ever.
Oh, and let's not forget my voice. I mean, effeminacy equals gay right!?
I envy your ignorant bliss, how lucky you are to be able to categorize people so easily. And I do apologize that I attacked your social norms. How rude of me to be so homosexual around you. It's lucky I didn't get too close, you may have even caught it!
Besides if you stopped to talk to me, you may have gotten to know me.

Like, did you know I'm secretly NOT gay? I just happen to be raised by my mother and sister so I have a predisposition towards interior design.
Did you know that I write? That I think writing a poem is the sexiest thing a person can do?
Did you know I desperately want to find Ms. Right, not Mr. Right Now? Did you know I'm am terrified of E.T. The Extra Terrestrial with those creepy long light up fingers?
No?

That's because you don't know a DAMN thing about me!
Oh, except for some preconceived notions of who I sleep with at night.
It must be so hard for you around us sub-humans, who can't marry, or adopt, or serve in the military. It's truly amazing how that one word you said sums up decades of disgust, and how your body language scared the hell out of me.
I will NEVER forget the hatred in your eyes, that brought me back to when I was a kid and the first time I touched a hot iron, how I couldn't believe how something could hurt so bad, and how much I hated irons after that.

And if YOU are the poster boy for heterosexuality, and if YOU set the bar for straight, I will gladly learn to piss glitter, happily changing my favorite color to rainbow to distance myself from you.

Tell you what, let's settle this now. We'll make it easy. I'll let you tattoo the word “Faggot” over my forehead so you can tell the difference, but I, I get to tattoo “Bigot” across yours.
But leave mine some room for honestly, so I can tattoo “Fucking awesome” on mine, and on yours I'll put “Fucking stupid”.
Maybe this will catch on, and everyone will be defined by the words on their head, instead of the words in their heart. And if people like you weren't SO concerned with sexual identity mine could say; “poet” or “fun” or “fabulous”.
And if you weren't such a fucking coward yours could say “Decent” or “accepting” or “Human Being”.

So, guy who called me a faggot outside my favorite bar in Austin.
Thank you.
You've cleared a lot of things up for me, but you're simply not my type.