I cannot thank you enough for the days
where I had a pool of words
I did not know where to place
And if it wasn’t for this microphone
carrying the weight of my day
I would only be the tune
that a hammer makes against the wall

where no matter how dull
the day wrung me, this stage
somehow made canvas out of
my face, and I could go home
and sleep knowing that maybe
I can inspire love when you look at me

Where a tequila with orange juice is only $5
Where the bartender made sure I didn’t drink too much
Where dance music has a conscious
Where an amethyst stone spoke my name
Where the painters aren’t afraid to use their guts as a brush
Where a poet has an audience

Where our existence is reassured

And what else could an artist
possibly want more
when that is what we question
all of the time