There’s a poetry night coming up here in a few days
But my hands are too shaky to write
And my body is too broken to fight
My mind is too wild to sit still
And my will fell ill awhile ago
And the ego
Has only grown
He wants a thrown of his own
And besides
I have my book to work on
I don’t have the time to spin more lies
And I definitely don’t want to get drunk enough
To get up in front a bunch of eyes
And recite my lines
They are safe alone in my mind
They can’t be shit on in there
They’re alive, in swimming through my veins
I don’t need them to touch air and turn red
No, I’ll starve them inside of my head
And I won’t let them breath
I’ll let them burn
Every word
I swear that this will never be heard
These words will never be read
No, not by me
They’ll fade away into infinity
They’ll disappear beyond the stars
This poem will float behind the sun
Never to be read by my future son . . .
Yes, it’s better to protect myself
Then be vulnerable
I’ll become a ghost
Instead of becoming the most
And I, too, will fade away
Because
It’s much easier to do that
Than to take a stage
And pretend to be brave . . .
Yes, fading away
Will sometimes be easier
Than going on a stage
And pretending to be brave
But, sometimes,
The hardest thing for me to be
Is nothing
So tonight
I’ll take my shaky hands and try to write
I’ll pick up my broken bones
And try to fight
I’ll let my ego sit on his throne
I’ll open up my veins on this stage
And report every way that I misbehave
I’ll get drunk enough
And stop pretending to be so damn tough
I’ll show you my sea’s
Even if those waves are rough
Just for tonight
I’ll be heard
Just for tonight
I’ll breath magic into the spoken word
Just for tonight
The poet can have a turn.
CH 12/10/23
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