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Poetry Night

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


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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