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Open Mic Night

August 16, 2010
tags: ,

Click click and a spark
flies from my lips to the microphone and
onward into your brain.

Hours I’ve spent in my room talking up
the walls and shouting
down the halls knowing
that one day I’d be here,

in front of you,

teaching you to think
the way I want you to,
the way you ought to,
the way you’ve always wanted to
(but never had the balls to do).

Sitting under cover of darkness you
swim through the vicarious green clouds of
my discourse feeling the anger –

the frustration –

that you’ve always had, but had grown
numb to when it came time to

grow up and
make a buck
and give a fuck about

life in the ‘real world’.

And as I guide you through this malaise
of mixed emotion and antipathetic melancholy you
nod your blinded eyes and clench your
weakening fist for a moment,

swaying to the rhythm I predict,

and wishing you could stand up and speak with
the authority, the determination,
the balls that I do…

And I sit here under the harsh spotlight
and sweat out my dreams
and spit my eloquence on the open mic
waiting for your approval so that
I can have the courage to blaspheme in my
room alone knowing
that one day –

sitting on a wobbly stool in a bar on the verge of going
out of business –

I’ll gain that sense of approval from you that
neither one of us have ever given ourselves and
this symbiosis will keep us both necessary for just a

little

while

longer.

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