The Curse of 2015
I am more of a Queen than my sisters will ever be. I own more makeup, and bigger breasts. When did I become the daughter my mother always wanted?It’s for these very reasons that I hate 2015 — and I know that when we ring in 2016 and Auld Lang Syne plays throughout Times Square that Ashton Kutcher will jump out of the newly dropped ball and scream that we’ve all been #Punk’d. That gays will not be marrying, and Donald Trump won’t be a viable candidate. Trans women will not grace the cover of Vanity Fair, and men will not wear “man-buns.”In fact, they won’t even know which aisle to find hair-ties at Walgreens. All this nonsense of a genderless society and a call for equality will be over. We’ll go back to the 1950s, we’ll all just pretend to be happy and look the same. Instead of 2015 where we’re miserable and trying to be different.
My father wouldn’t be dead, and I won’t constantly have to carry a copy of his death certificate in my bag. The notarized kind, that you have to pay for yourself. I need it to show Financial Aid because they can’t seem to grasp that I’m financially independent now, andI’m too lazy to get a job — So I need them to pay for my education, but more so my alcohol and designer Bondage wear, that I think works from Day to Night. I won’t constantly know that we signed the Do Not Resuscitate at 8:45 P.M. on March 14th and that a broken hearted man’s heart finally gave out on its own a bit after midnight. Stabbed in the back by his own children on the Ides of March.
Ugly men will not think its okay to message me on Grindr, even though it is so painfully obvious that I am too gorgeous to even feign a response. I will be dating women and I will not be doing drag in the open. Instead, I will have a storage unit that I call my Man Cave. Where I will conceal my sequins and synthetic wigs.
When 2015 is revealed as a hoax, I won’t know who Divine is and my sister won’t be advertising on her Facebook about thePamperedchef.com. We’ll still live in Farmingdale on Long Island and I will not use that princess pen my sister gave, that I love so much. Binghamton won’t be pretty and I will study law — and have a low authoritative voice, instead of speaking with an effeminate lisp. No one will be Tumblr famous, or measure their Instagram followers. The world will go back to being in black and white — or I’d even settle for sepia tone. Anything other than 2015, the year the Earth shift edits axis and we all lost our minds. 2015 When I wrote a poem, already dated and another iPhone just launched.
Written by Michael Rulli
About The Author
Michael Rulli is a young poet on the verge of graduating from Binghamton University, where he studied Creative Writing. His poetry tries to depict a humorous melancholy state that culminates in his longing for his imaginary friend, “the moon.” After the loss of both his parents he found poetry and drag as a means to save his life. Now he hopes that he can go beyond the space time continuum and change the very fabric of reality. His preferred social media platform is Instagram (@fagu3tt3) and he can be reached via his website.
