Part of my last post described what a great week I had last week.
I want to expand on that a bit.
I went to a poetry slam in nearby big city. I looked it up online, and I read over the rules pretty good. Attending a poetry slam is something that I’ve always wanted to do.
I got there early, and I felt pretty confident that I was going to read. I introverted for a little bit in a really cute coffee shop, and I got to know the space around me.
The energy was there, my confidence was commendable, and I decided to go for it.
The guy beside me: You know you’re going to give us money to judge you, right?
Yes, sir. I am aware of that.
Let’s roll.
I went last in the first round, and I realized pretty quickly that I had to change my tactics. I saved my best poem for last, and I had to whip that one out first. Everyone else’s work smoked me.
My best work is someone else’s worst? Are you kidding me?
I can’t even begin to explain how beautiful that two hours of my life was.
I feel like I saw color for the first time after living my life in black and white.
My first poem kept up with the big city kids. It got an 8.5 out of 10.
(They score you in front of you, which isn’t intimidating at all. 🤷♀️)
But I’m not sure if I’m worthy of that score. Sigh.
Guys, I want to learn how to do that. I don’t even know how to explain the magic that I felt in the room that night.
My life made sense and my life was perfect.
I’m going to learn how to do that - how to share the worst parts of life in a way that’s so beautiful and melodic, you just want to approach the poet after and cry with them and hug them and tell them that everything is going to be okay.
I’m going to learn how to be vulnerable.
I’m not exaggerating when I say that I laughed and then cried. I cheered, clapped, snapped and said whatever was on my mind.
It was the happiest two hours of my life. It was the most beautiful writing that I’ve ever heard read out loud.
Like the moderator said: The point is the poetry.
And that poetry was beautiful.
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