Making Wreckage Beautiful

I’ve got to translate this frustrated scream

Into something your ears find suitable

I’ll captivate you with my inner collision

By making my wreckage beautiful

When I was told to shut my mouth, I just opened up my pen

And that’s when the swallowed truths that composed the lump in my throat came out and splattered the pages of my notebook with iambic pentameter, metaphors,

And Analogies….I made art out of insanity.

I had so many filled notebooks, but an empty mouth…

And then I left them on a shelf, and got lonely for myself.

Then the “fuck you’s” meant for my father turned into patterns on my skin.

The “help me’s” meant for my mother…

Were concealed by my psyche

And died still inside me

Until aid wasn’t something I knew I could ask for.

All I did was rage, and rage, and rage

And the only thing compliant with my defiance

Was the still and utter silence

…..And I just wanted to be heard.

I didn’t want my life defined by someone else’s words.

I hid my feelings away so no one could touch them, but I want to bring them out now so they can touch you.

Even though I fear you’ll never hear me

Not because you are deaf….. but because I am afraid

I’m so scared my pain won’t be intense enough even though its clawing its way out of my throat, voicing

These verses with passion that are filled with my truth

Which fuels up my heart until I spit FIRE

Which incinerates any lies my mouth tries to produce

Because honesty is the only way to inspire

That’s why I stand before you now

With my emotions as the pressure and my words as the gauge

And I want to say to all here tonight who lose sleep to write

That we create a gallery upon the poets stage.

Because our mediums for misery are the brushes in our hands

With which we paint a masterpiece upon the canvas of the damned.

I turn my suffering to substance

Because suffering is mutable

I turn my aching into art

And make my wreckage beautiful.