I can see the highway.

I lay way back with my feet on the dashboard.

My boredom overtakes me.

It takes me a second to gather my thoughts.

I gather my headphones which lay on my knees.

I squeeze my thighs under the arm rest,

and disarm my seatbelt to stretch my legs out onto the street.

It was a stretch to think i’d be here.

 

New City with Old plans I used to dream about.

I became the youth.

I sat among them still hoping to understand where I stood within them.

They stood around me one by one.

Lingo lingered from each annunciation.

This was confidence.

This was poetic.

This was therapudic.

 

From gang violence to police violence, energetic experience was preached from gang bangers to preachers kids.

They all came together with pre written speeches,

speaking with optimism.

I was speechless.

They don’t teach this in public schools.

This was creativity that secreted from overlooked

innovators too young to be noticed.

 

I can see the stage.

I stay way back in the last row.

Each poem leaving a lasting impression on me.

Presenting in front of a crowd would normally put pressure on me, But I gather my courage and walk to the mic.

My friends hyping me up.

No hyperventilation, just letters leaping from my vocal pipes

These young Chicago kids evoked a poet from an introvert

and gave my darkened thoughts some light.