Has everything I’ve ever done
been just an imitation of something else?
I’ll never be remembered, I’ll always
sabotage any romance I ever have
because of some warped thing inside
of me that I’ve never contended with,
inherited from the colonizer and the colonized.
I don’t know, I think I read that somewhere.
In many ways I am a poser and a loser and a jerk.
Why did I do this? Why did I ever do anything?
I’m at karaoke taking sips from a stranger’s
drink because the bartender refuses to look at me.
I leave remnants of myself on the glass and try to
wipe it off with my trench coat.
I feel overcast. Like I’m about to burst.
Every Thursday at midnight
the KJ chooses a name
from the bucket and that person gets
to sing “Dancing on My Own.”
I never get picked. He turns off
the lights and takes out his
cell phone and makes a strobe light
by putting his hand in front of it
and moving it up and down.
I never get picked except for this time.
My name echoes throughout the room
and this time, people are looking at me,
smiling empathetically, like I’m some kind of burn victim.
They are clapping. They are woo-ing.
I’m surrounded by so many friends.
I get up on stage. The music begins.
And then. Poof. It’s the same room but it’s
not the same room. The KJ has been
replaced by the She.
She’s gotten ahold of the audio system.
The speakers blast my insecurities
in my mother’s voice. I feel hungover.
I understand that I am in hell.
I ask her, What do you want.
What do you really really want?
and she begins to duplicate.
I’m staring at myself
surrounded by myself.
I’m trapped in a room
with me. Somewhere
among all of me
I can hear
Selena singing.
She pushes past herself,
trying to concentrate
on her voice.
Suddenly, she’s in a flashing hallway.
All of the Shes are chasing her
but only as fast as she can run,
which isn’t that fast.
She’s in the karaoke
place where she had her quinceañera.
Rooms and rooms of
single karaoke booths.
Places where one can be vulnerable
without being too vulnerable.
She arrives at a front desk and
there is her precious You.
She can’t believe it.
It’s really You.
But he is busy now.
All dial-up and mixed signals.
But then, oh! The You disappears
and she is locked in a room
filled with screens.