Thursday, November 9, 2017


If I take it one step at a-
one blink at a-
one moment at a
line by line
will I cut through
                       black tape
editor in session
judge and jury in session
my sweet beloved self-censorship
reminding me just how truly bad a writer I am...
might it make it to a second paragraph?

And I remember the time when I was told I was not a poet.
I remember the moment
my words were stripped
                        from the page
shot down and cut to size
resized my imagined ties
to the image I have of myself.
And I remember the time when I wrote spoken word that never met the inside of a mouth.
That time, this time, my time
for all time -
What is risk?
If "vulnerability is our most accurate measurement of courage,"
what the fuck is being a mother?
I tell my friend that I have always loved spoken word, I tell my friend how Hamilton was the best thing I have ever seen, I tell my friend how the experience broke my heart.
What was once sewn shut
What would've, could've, would never have...
and I am lost
an anger at sea
all churn and no wave.

I want to believe that it's still inside me.
That bravery to put myself out there
and not give a fuck.
One step at a
One blink at a
one moment
one word
one breath
one letter

1 comment:

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