I read poetry

I read poetry. I listen to music. I frantically grasp at any essence of raw, unfiltered thought that a single person can possibly produce at the risk of cracking open and exposing their entire soul to me. In a world so filtered; In a place so edited to a perfect pin designed to get you to their point as fast as they can sell it to you, why not? Maybe it's envy. How come I'm constantly struggling amongst myself, tripping to find some semblance of peace while you float about in your many examples of healthy, true connection. How dare you show me a reflection of myself, get me so riled up at this person in the mirror "Hey buddy get a life!" and then scrutinize them. Suddenly you and I are very different. No, I do not believe it to be envy. I read poetry. While everyone is producing, I consume. It is my job as a consumer after all. And make no mistake, I can produce. My mother used to say that more often than not, I talk to hear my own voice. I read because I'll never run out of things to read, I'll never run out of new thoughts to consider. And isn't that beautiful? While it's wonderful to come up with your own thoughts and opinions, to create your own art, why not read another perspective if you can?; Why not get another opinion so available? Would that not make me ignorant? To ignore and produce, ignore and produce? am I not to appreciate, and admire all the beautiful, complicated thoughts written on this page or sung in that song? Who am I to create, and deny the creators? So I read poetry. I sit in my favourite chair, sipping my too-sweet coffee, reading poetry on my too-old laptop. I suppose if you're looking for someone to blame, you can blame Sarah Kay. She's who got me into spoken word poetry when I fell in love with her honest words. She's unapologetically herself, confident when she speaks, knowing her truth. I strive to be my own version of a Sarah Kay. And maybe, one day, when I get there, I'll write a poem on how I did it. I will deny it but deep down I still believe that one day I'll read a phrase written just so, that all the secrets of the world will suddenly unravel before me in this giant, complex web, but then the realist in me pops out before I get too carried away. One can still hope, though. In the mean time, I will read poetry. It's incredibly humbling, if nothing else at all.