Inspired by slam poet Anis Mojgani’s direct order to rock out and presented at the CCSJ’s end of the year celebration. The people of Creighton’s Center for Service and Justice have committed themselves to a year of rocking out…
Rock out like your teacher tells you to write your name on the final exam and you put “wicked” as your first name and “awesome” as your last.
Rock out like the service trip t-shirts next year were polyester and doubled as a bowling league shirt.
Like five people rocking out on only one guitar.
Like you used the log book to reserve a dance party.
Rock out like next year’s staff turned off the computers at night, washed the dishes, and never missed a timesheet.
Rock out like new faces meant remembering the old, like new friends meant appreciating those gone.
Rock out like Omaha was our home away from home, and Harper 2067 was our living room. Like we shared, we loved, and we grew like a family.
Rock out like this life is so good we are willing to exhaust ourselves daily, wake up and do it again.
Rock out like the room is full of people who don’t want to be anywhere else.
Rock out like the children believing in fairy tales also believed that other worlds could be created from dirt, sticks, rocks, and worms.
Like another world is possible, not only did we help create it, but we also got to see it.
Rock out like it’s our duty to dream.
Rock out like generosity was our currency and we were all rich.
Rock out like schools had money and the Military had to hold bake sales.
Like education was universal and everyone could read this beat.
Rock out like a smile erased segregation. Like a hug healed the deepest wound.
Rock out like every day you looked forward to work because your coworkers, your bosses understand. Like your peers are the most concrete models of a bright future.
Rock out like you changed your email to email@example.com.
Rock out like every baby in Nebraska is now protected.
Rock out like this was a wicked awesome semester, only to be celebrated, not forgotten.
And in Anis’ words: Rock out like this was your last weekend, like these were your last words, like you don’t ever want to forget how.