A World Worth Hearing

Adrenaline pulsing methodically through my veins,

high off the majesty and brilliance injected into my blood from the words of others.
I craved the rhythm, the scenery, the sense of belonging,

a gravitational pull of curiosity that kept me hooked on every word while sitting at a small table, served soft pita and spicy hummus with a tall glass of insecurity and angst.

I felt… Whole, telling others of this magic, the way inspiration swirled into my soul like the twister in Wizard of Oz turning my grey world vibrant.

But they don't seem to get it… How could they not see how this lit me up inside?

Tiny patches over rips in my heart even more permanent than my grandma’s stitches over clothing?

Listeners called the controversial words a "shock" I called it a wake up call.

They said "it was too far outside their comfort zone", but I embraced the rawness and vulnerability, every word stripping off my newly mended clothing until I was transparent as glass.

Please tell me how my peers are "mental" for voicing their adolescent and righteous opinion, taunt our "hippy snapping" that we use to acknowledge the words that have been spoken yet not to break the enormity of the poet's emotion, because you don't want to hear it.

You don't want to hear what your soul cannot handle and you don't understand that the only thing more blissful than ignorance is the bliss of knowing what those who ignored are missing.

You don't understand, We are the voices of hairbrush singers, of dashboard drummers, of paper toss all stars and backyard quarterbacks.

Putting each of our unfathomable aspirations into stories we call poems.

We are something that we can't exactly mark yet but each word helps unite the lost together. Borrowing each other's confidence when we are unsure of our own.

Slam poetry is lyrics for those of us whose words don’t form songs or speeches.

For those of us who aren't politicians,

undivided attention for those of us who are normally too busy to stop and be listened to.

But don't be critical because those in glass houses should not throw throw lead insults because we each have a shattered story to tell, some of us more brave to put the emotion into syllables.

I know that my hope for empathy is just a shout into the void and that ignorance is inevitable and my words are cliché, but while we are each seated at this table, fully embrace the magical words around you and listen.

This poem is about: 
Me

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