Paul Caribou
I started going to the gym because I saw how much you loved going. It was one of the things you tried while figuring out what you wanted to be. You’d go every day and I noticed how your muscles were growing.
I thought you looked amazing before but after I absolutely didn’t know what to say. You could tell how much time you spent and all your effort showed. I’d go too but I never really tried and from programs I’d stray.
I decided that I wanted more and that I should put more effort into how I look. I started training and eventually I started to feel better about myself. My confidence went up because now people could judge me from the cover of my book.
The arms and the chest I gained were enough to help me walk a little taller. I had hoped I’d look good enough to be someone you’d be proud of. With my new appearance I felt my shame grow smaller.
The new me might be stronger and taller than the older weaker me. But I’ve still got to grow in many ways that improve more than just what I have to show. Because these protein shakes don’t make me as strong as I need to be.
Lately I’ve been doing other things to make me feel better and to help me grow. I’ve been writing these lame poems and recording videos on Youtube. I even played a coffee shop’s lame open mic night show.
Now when I’m sad I look at the bright side of everything new. I look at the sky and I appreciate the clouds that block out the sun. I think about the weekend I spent with you and I listen to songs by Paul Baribeau.
I showed you all these bands growing up but I never took the time to become obsessed with yours. Now I listen to a lot of the music you like and I feel like I’ve found another insight to your mind. I’ve found a lot of the lyrics that you quote and now I want to go home and learn the song’s chords.
I know a lot of these songs are sad but that’s not what I’m hearing in the end. I’m singing along with Paul while he plays Better Than Anything Ever. And I’m thinking of you when I hear a song about falling in love with your best friend.
