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Some Gay Poems 3: Sugar Bear
Week 3!
Fun fact: 3 is most likely my favourite number but I never tell anyone that because the concept of having favourite things worries me! All through my schooling I always tried to go third for presentations and to pee in the third urinal from the left!
For every follower you recruit, you’ll be entitled to one (1) more fun fact like this!
Oh, also, here’s a thing I’ve been thinking about: it’s Valentine’s Day in a couple weeks, whatever that means. This past December, I semi-accidentally started writing commissioned poems. I really enjoyed doing it. So if you’re looking for a V-Day gift for whomever you may like or love, and you’d like a personalized poem, get in touch.
This week’s poem is about Elton John, my speech therapy, and anxiety (broadly). It engages in abstraction a little more than the past two weeks. Do you like that? Bonus points (I’ve been counting) if you can tell what the title comes from!
Here’s an out-of-context photo that suits the Eltonjohnniness overall:
Sugar Bear
In preschool talent shows I sang “Goodbye Yewwow Bwick Woad.”
A face painter once came to my elementary schoolNo one could understand me when I told them I was a “beaw.”
Years later I was sent to a speech therapist.She and I played Balderdash.She told me to focus on my tongue against my palatewhile I pronounced “world” and “carrot”with their centres wet like undercooked cakes.She told me to start with my tongue against the back of my front teeth,to make an “L” become an “R”and over time my world came togetherand my carrots hardenedand now they’ve been in my fridge so longI ought to find a recipe for them soonbecause every time Elton John stutters“B-B-B-Bennie and the Jets” I worry that my record player is skipping again.“You know I read it in a magazine” gets my heart racing —The B-B-B, the rattle of a roller coaster mounting its peak,The release assured but ill-defined.“Lllllurrrrrrrrrrrrrr,” my tongue screams.
— Misha Solomon
Thanks for reading and/or listening (and/or sharing), y’all! Feedback (and title sleuthing!) is always most welcome:
See you next Monday for another gay little poem!
This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit somegaypoems.substack.com
View all episodes
By Misha SolomonWeek 3!
Fun fact: 3 is most likely my favourite number but I never tell anyone that because the concept of having favourite things worries me! All through my schooling I always tried to go third for presentations and to pee in the third urinal from the left!
For every follower you recruit, you’ll be entitled to one (1) more fun fact like this!
Oh, also, here’s a thing I’ve been thinking about: it’s Valentine’s Day in a couple weeks, whatever that means. This past December, I semi-accidentally started writing commissioned poems. I really enjoyed doing it. So if you’re looking for a V-Day gift for whomever you may like or love, and you’d like a personalized poem, get in touch.
This week’s poem is about Elton John, my speech therapy, and anxiety (broadly). It engages in abstraction a little more than the past two weeks. Do you like that? Bonus points (I’ve been counting) if you can tell what the title comes from!
Here’s an out-of-context photo that suits the Eltonjohnniness overall:
Sugar Bear
In preschool talent shows I sang “Goodbye Yewwow Bwick Woad.”
A face painter once came to my elementary schoolNo one could understand me when I told them I was a “beaw.”
Years later I was sent to a speech therapist.She and I played Balderdash.She told me to focus on my tongue against my palatewhile I pronounced “world” and “carrot”with their centres wet like undercooked cakes.She told me to start with my tongue against the back of my front teeth,to make an “L” become an “R”and over time my world came togetherand my carrots hardenedand now they’ve been in my fridge so longI ought to find a recipe for them soonbecause every time Elton John stutters“B-B-B-Bennie and the Jets” I worry that my record player is skipping again.“You know I read it in a magazine” gets my heart racing —The B-B-B, the rattle of a roller coaster mounting its peak,The release assured but ill-defined.“Lllllurrrrrrrrrrrrrr,” my tongue screams.
— Misha Solomon
Thanks for reading and/or listening (and/or sharing), y’all! Feedback (and title sleuthing!) is always most welcome:
See you next Monday for another gay little poem!
This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit somegaypoems.substack.com