I've three poems to write for Open Mic on Monday night
But where to get the inspiration?
How do I know what will sound right?
I'll have to dig deep to find new words and sentences in my own time
As well as making it matter
and make sense to you
But isn't too preachy whilst stood in the limelight
Something that flows free
And comes naturally
In hindsight
How do I change up the rhymes
But keep my structure and flow tight
What style am I wanting to deliver?
Well, I want to really reach in to memories
From which emotions are triggered
But still keep some sort of restrain
To tame all those scenes you'll envision
Cos that's me at heart
I'm all about subtlety
When using specific words and wisdom as art
But I'm not a master yet
I've still got lots more learning to do
I'm still yearning for you
To give me feedback
So if I talk crap
And it sounds whack
Tell me to stop and rethink
I can always backtrack
Cos I've got a passion for language
Which at times is demanding
When I can't seem to get what I want on a page
I'll sit and think for ages
Even when there's no sunlight
To break through the haze
Only by emptying my thoughts
Can I navigate this inner maze
So let me now share with you
How I've written words in cursives
How I've arranged every word
So these verses feel furnished
Full of purpose
And meaning
That enter your chest
Just off left
So you physically feel
What I'm revealing
Giving life to meaning
And now I've started
I'll finish
Cos I'm fully committed
That's one poem down
2 more left to envisage
I hope you enjoyed this
Simple musing I've written

This isn't 2007
You're not as pretty as you think you were
Or as fit as you were back then
You're not in high school
You didn't even win Prom Queen
All your juvenile accomplishments may have meant something to people who cared about high school
But then nobody cares now
Suckers are falling for the cruelty of compliments
And they can't tell the difference between an insult from your mouth and kindness from a good person in the form of me delivering you to the painful truth
That when you were somebody
It wasn't preparing you for anything
You're going to be nobody forever
Just another face on TV
With 15 minutes of forgetability
Because you were never really giving. You never knew what it meant to defend the defenseless, fight for what was right, or think about making somebody else look good when they needed a win.
You only think of survival in the jungle of pettiness
And when you feel you've done some sort of triumph
It's always about you

An open mic, an invitation, a couple minutes of self expression: simple.
Each artist is to each other as two books are, unread, undiscovered, and uninterpreted: unique.
Not every man can claim his prize. There is no one wise
enough to say which is better than the other,
But rather
A few truths to offset the lies
Behind a person's conscience. They try.

when i am on stage i tremble
um not able
to recite words slip
away
as you stare at me you strip
me naked
but at least i made it, here
i lost my confidence along the way
if someone saw it, i bet he wouldnt say
its okay
i will do without it today

I imagine.
When I do,
I can only think of you,
How your smile spreads to your eyes,
Making me want to live in the moment forever.
I imagine
That we walk on paths,
Unknown to us,
Filled with fear and excitement,
Winding with happiness that is constant.
I imagine
That we see the dawn,
Bursting with resplendent hues,
And birds soaring in the sky,
Inviting us to hum along.
I imagine
That we break rules,
Do things our own way,
Travel the world,
To leave our traces.
I imagine
A cold summer night,
In your arms,
Watching the stars,
Sitting at the window.
I imagine
The story of us
Has no end
Or beginning,
But continues like the universe.
I imagine
I could fill your heart,
With all my warmth,
So that we know we could be,
Mysterious to this world.
I imagine
And wonder,
What you would imagine,
With a smile extending to my eyes.

You stole my voice, but I let
you lock it away. Behind neck kisses,
lazy Sundays, and “who’s texting yous.”
Don’t worry baby,
I found it between the cracks
of your fingers, wrapped
around my neck, you tried to stop
the word *****.  Nice try.
You can’t mute
me. Watch me throw up,
watch me wail.
Your ego is deafening, as if you were afraid
of mine being louder than yours.
Well, I’m ******* screaming,
and I hope your ear drums shatter.
Perfect perforation.  
You can’t shush me.
My voice is not cracking,
*****, did I stutter?
Nope.

But, no hard feelings, right? ’Cause this
new dude says he likes it when I
scream.

***.  *****.  Stuff.
This is poetry in the 21st century.
Can't.  Get.  Enough.
Humans are just selfish vices made up of flesh.

Snap.  Snap.
Dramatic Bass Line.
This is not a poem about how poetry is good.
This is a poem about how the poet doesn't care about the reader.
The poet wants to prove how smart he is.
Green.   Carpet.  Zebra.
Dramatic Bass Line.
Snap.  Snap.

I want the open mic.
I need to be heard.