Like young gods walking into the arena Raven among the serpents Quetzalcoatl of feathers and scales This isn't a pride This is a pack A generation A coil A nest This den is made for power A bed for the young to learn in the solitary world
Wait! Listen! I’m sorry I’m soft spoken in unknown crowds And race in volumes when alone The rushed strings of words still follow my thoughts However strange they sound spoken aloud Just listen Just for a moment My speaking follows a rhythm There is a poem in the hurried mumbling Tumbling and stumbling out. I’ve lived with them for a while We are both trapped I use lost, nothingness, and billowing darkness Because we are trapped there Most lines are formed in in secret Too many are formed in the darkest corners Just relax, I know But listen Just for a bit I stumble and race along Each poem is me only exposed to more than me The private thoughts leaked out to peak out Are backed by fear of the open The trembling hand and the shaky notes Trip up the intention of any plans I’m sorry Please listen Just for a bit
There is desperation in youth Each heartache and heartbreak crushing In its overture of need The petals of broken hearts litter the floors In the wind of longing cries Pieces are glued back on Cries become sighs of what was then Until the next time the heart is wrenched and wrung Youth despair and keep going Despite the thoughts of what it was
Sad little poems in a concrete room Posters for groups from before This poem is not shy The words build to fill the space Breaking out of that sad space That place has no space for words Words shouting whispering working Hurting or flirting The feelings that shatter the mind Words that ******* with joy These words are more than Sad little poems in a concrete room
My first and only experience with an open mic, after moving to a new city, was in a back room of a book store. It was a concrete box and the open mic met after a twelve step group. We took turns saying our poems in a circle. The open mics I had been going to were in a private area of a motel. There was music and it felt more like freer space to share. It felt like closer to the idea of an open mic night. I was always terrified, but they were so nice.
Sweat slicked legs criss-crossed and cut Set back to one side under The table able to take flight right out The door open freely seeing now Hold tight to fight the urge Run quick to freely seeing now Out there gone and running Rise up to run stumbling fumbling Sweat slicked legs gone out freely seeing now Run quick now back into the flow Sweat slicked legs uncrossed and moving Rise up to freely seeing now
My life leaned back into the predestined road Of which, it was etched out in dips and bumps Flourished in the curves and straight a ways it took me. Perhaps I am the clueless one Who is unsure how it all came to this point on the map of time. Being told to think about my life goals or plans at this stage Can be hard to fathom when each line seems to disconnect. How do I plan for the rest of my life When I’m not sure what plan got me here?