The Drag Race Pentina Project
I was out for a walk in nature--
no children-- and I stared up at the night sky searching for Mars. I thought about Barsoom, and what it would be like to act like John Carter. But I knew if I did and someone else was near, I’d come across as crazy. To be fair, that would be crazy, acting out dreams of the red planet out in the depths of nature. They’d say that I was acting the fool, and hoped that I had no children to embarrass. But no matter how hard I looked, I couldn’t find Mars out in the distant sky. I’d have to make do with the Mars in my mind, even if I’d go crazy imagining my life there. How would I raise my kids on this planet, devoid of nature? There’s only red dust. I’d have to act natural and not scare my babies. I’d act as though we had nothing to fear on Mars. Even if we had no nature, we would survive and not go crazy, at least, not before my children anyway. The children would be the first go, putting on a horrid act. They’d go crazy from the barren landscape, dying on the vast Martian plains. But it was silly to project myself out into space, in the depths of nature.
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Nobody knows
what it means to be a pageant girl unless you’ve been one. You might as well be a pig getting your blue ribbon, hoping you’re the victor of the state fair. You could compare it to tripping on acid, lost in a state of mind where acid is the only solution to things making sense. Your nose is powdered, you’re called Victoria, and you’re here to win the pageant. It doesn’t matter if people make pig noises at you: you do what you love in spite of those “pig” comments fired at you. The worst comes with a caustic assault of acid, flung because they feel as though pageants are meant for little girls, and noses are a privilege, not a right when you sometimes feel like being called Victoria instead of Victor. In retrospect, being associated with a pig is a temporary matter. Losing a nose is permanent. That assault, that hateful acid was meant to stop your pageant days, but it won’t. Pageants are meant for everyone who wants to feel like a victor in their lives, and doesn’t want to trip on acid to get to that feeling. You may feel like a gussied-up pig at the state fair, but when that crown comes down upon your head, it’s right, everybody knows. |
This section is dedicated to my poetry inspired by RuPaul's Drag Race. There's at least one poem per contestant in the completed project. All of the poems are written as pentinas.
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