The song is...: Welcome to Michael Marrotti (Explicit Language)

Tonight, after the end of a grueling semester, I would like to (finally!) post the work of Michael Marrotti, a Pittsburgh poet. Open mics can be frustrating. The picture above is from an article that lists Pittsburgh as one of the best places to retire to (in Pennsylvania).

'Pittsburgh Culture'

   I walked up on stage like I was a nobody amongst a timid crowd, who would have had an orgasm after a single touch. The spotlight was beaming on me, the guy who traveled from Andy Warhol's old neighborhood to recite a few pieces of poetry.
   The first stanza mentioned a vagina, you know, the kind certain woman share with the social media world via Tumblr or snap chat. They appeared to be nervous. I shifted the position of my ass in the wooden chair to begin the second stanza.
   This one mentioned chlamydia, you know, the sexually transmitted disease most of the millennials carry around like an iPhone. I took a look at the crowd after that to see giant eyeballs, taken aback, like I was reciting Anti-Semitic literature, after they snorted an Adderall.
   There's no turning back now, so I continued onto the last stanza. It mentioned an orgasm, you know, the kind we all had before this waste of time, also known as the Open Mic. Where people come to share their art with an uptight crowd. The same people who belittle Trump every chance they get, but then emulate Mother Teresa, 'cause that's the type of behavior that exists in this pseudo-liberal town of Pittsburgh.
   I was banned after that night for enticing people to think about their own obscene actions. Christ, if I wanted to be upset, I could've stopped at my mom's house. It's less of a walk, and the vodka flows like the Allegheny river.

'The Great Fire Of Pittsburgh'

I have a smile
in the form
of a pill

Misery falls
from the sky
the perpetuity
of indecent
behavior

I have a brain
that will not
behave
telling me
to do things
that'll make
no difference

My fellow man
is no friend
of mine
only out
for his
best interest

I've tried
in the past
and failed
to be
understood

They have
misconceived
all my actions

I'm plagued
by negative
impact
it's their
course of
work
it's what
they do

Reaching
the point
where I
question
this endeavor

My primary
concern
this waste
of time

I no longer
see a point
in speaking
these words
critical thinking
does not exist

I wanna plant
this bomb
like a delicate
flower

I wanna play
the fiddle
like Nero
and watch
them burn

'Pittsburgh Poetry Slam'

I've had plenty
of instances
that drove me
to the point of no
turning back

The love
of my life
condemned me
to exile and self
induced orgasms
I put the blade
to my wrist
yet miraculously
chose to move on

My job and my car
were both lost
in a single sitting
Left with no options
I moved back in
with my alcoholic mom
which is equivalent
to blowing my
brains out
Somehow I survived

The cops brutally
beat me
then charged me
with a felony
The trepidation of
a possible jail
sentence adding
up to several
unlucky years
can do a number
on your mental health
Suicidal tendencies
I lived to walk the streets

If for some odd reason
I ever end up at the
Pittsburgh poetry slam
over on the east side
just one more
motherfucking time
I guarantee you
as sure as I'm writing here
it'll be the last time
you ever read a new post
by this unpopular
self-proclaimed
Pittsburgh poet

Surviving that twice
is a miracle to itself
My perseverance
still hasn't made
a comeback after
those excruciating
hours of broken words

Michael Marrotti is an author from Pittsburgh, using words instead of violence to mitigate the suffering of life in a callous world of redundancy. His primary goal is to help other people. He considers poetry to be a form of philanthropy. When he's not writing, he's volunteering at the Light Of Life homeless shelter on a weekly basis. If you appreciate the man's work, please check out his book, F.D.A. Approved Poetry, available at Amazon.