It’s hard being punk. Sometimes my Mohawk doesn’t want to stand in gravity-defying directions or my black nail polish will chip THE DAY AFTER I painted them. Last week I accidentally poked my significant other with one of the spikes on my dog collar. Regardless to say, they were not happy. Being punk comes with a lot of really challenging struggles that others don’t realize—especially in the 2010’s.
Let me start off by saying that the 80’s were the best years of all time. I know what you’re going to say, “but you were born in 1984”, yes, but I don’t need to have been there to know. Besides, I did a lot of growing in those 5 years.
The 2000’s murdered punk and then wrote, “punk’s not dead” on its tombstone. I see more plaid on shirts than pants and even when I do there’s never a wallet-chain in sight. Combat boots have been adopted by 15 year old girls and this pop punk music is becoming a bigger embarrassment by the day. Pop should never be anywhere near the word punk.
But even worse than all of this is the fact that I have to conform to this image. Some days I don’t want to be filled with angst and resentment. Sometimes I want to sing at the top of my lungs about late summer nights and long distance love. Sometimes I want to lie in bed and listen to an “acoustic sunrise” playlist. Sometimes I want to musically brag about my gold accessories, nauseating amounts of money, and unfaithful relationships. And hell, I’ll even admit to slipping into a pair of snakeskins and boot-scooting around my room to some top 10 country hits from time to time.
Being punk is hard for a lot of reasons, but I do it to keep the scene alive. I do it to help maintain the balance and generate awareness of the dying breed. I do it to remind people of oppression and the corrupt authoritative system—because I know they would forget if it weren’t for my long Facebook rants. Sometimes I think about talking to my friends about how I feel about it all, but that wouldn’t be very punk. Some may call me a hero, a lionheart, a warrior, but I simply call myself Jaykub.
I chose this life and I wouldn’t have it any other way. …But if you happen to come by an employer that is okay with neck tattoos, neon yellow hair, and 12 facial piercings, don’t be afraid to shoot me an email at xXPuNkZn0tDeDXx@aol.com.