WP EXCLUSIVE | old/unedited | #1 in freetheboy, traumacore, boyscrytoo, and cynicism | Genre(s): realistic, psychological, new adult fiction.
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Eighteen-year-old Tyler Petrit is tired. He's tired of his drug-addicted father always blaming him f...
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As bland as the name "The Poetry Hut" is, it lives up to it. The place is calm and cozy and smells like weed if you really focus. People come for two reasons - to drink terrible coffee and work or to read their amateur poetry and cry. The audience gets all deep and has a discussion about the meaning of life, some shit like that. If I bothered talking, I'd be just like them, bitching about my parents and how no one understands my way of living.
While Alaska gets coffee, I listen to other people's conversations. One of the more interesting I overhear is two girls arguing over if John Lennon deserved to die.
"He was racist," one of them says.
"That's just a rumor. Even if it is true, it was the sixties when he was coming up. Everyone was racist. He got shot in cold blood by a psychopath," the second one responds. "Nobody deserves that."
"What if he was Ted Bundy? Would he deserve it then?"
"Even if they weren't the best of people, you can still acknowledge what they went through and how painful it must have been. Acknowledging that Bundy had an awful childhood doesn't excuse his actions, just gives a possible explanation. Acknowledging that Lennon got fucking shot doesn't excuse the fact that he was possibly racist, it's just empathetic."
"Everyone knows getting shot is horrific and no one can imagine it happening to them, especially in the sudden way it did to Lennon, so out in the open. There are people who still support him - and Bundy, if you believe it, and say he did nothing wrong. That's on them."
Alaska comes back with her coffee. "Still tastes like someone put fake flavoring in water. Why did you bring me here for our first date, again?"
"I thought I'd look smart and endearing if I made it out like I listened to poetry because I know you enjoy it. Why'd you ask me to meet you here?"
"Memories. I wanted to see if they upped their game since we've been here. I'm not surprised they haven't."
"They really should rip the whole place apart and turn it into a roller rink."
"I'd dig that."
"You could go read your poetry for shits 'n gigs. It'd blow everyone away."
"My poetry is like your art. It's for me. Now that I think about it, this place is inspiring."
I look at the stain patterns on the floor, like blood spatter. Crumbs crawl into the welts of my shoes. "Its entire existence is a joke. No wonder this is only the second time I've been here."
"I come every other week when I feel like writing. It's inspiring just because of how depressing and soulless it is. I could write all day with the mood it puts me in. I can only write when I'm sad. Write well, I mean."
"Art is a source of therapy. That's why I draw. Pure freedom. Sometimes it helps and I enjoy it. Other times, I can't enjoy it because of how shitty I feel."
