Nicole Sharp

Writes

Damn poets…

Oh the poets did it again.

Got me in the guts.

Ripped out my heart to show it to me, still beating, still hoping, still dreaming.

I dressed in black, dressed up, dressed to go out on a school night.

Went out to remind myself of life beyond the capital Mom that falls into bed at 10 every night, still making lists of what needs to get done, should be done, could be done.

I went out among other poetically inclined.

Our smiles silently mingled, our eyes evenly roamed, a one-ness warmed the brick walls.

Inside the wine flowed, outside the rain poured, above the lights dimmed.

Then the poets opened their mouths.

Their damn mouths

And out flowed honey.

Out flowed beauty and truth,

bathing me in watery light.

Their experience and love wrenched, itched, marked my skin.

Their vulnerability pumped my heart in rhythm with their words.

Their honesty made my hands sticky, sweaty, silky.

Made my night clear.

Made my might clear

Made my sight clear.

Those damn poets, with their beats and their nicks and their slams and their cans…

Were a reminder of possible and possibilities.

Were a welcome inundation of daring and light and the and.

and those damn poets conspired to inspire and maybe that wasn’t their intention

but here we are, here I am, awake from a dream of lyrics and measures that haunted my tossed and turned dark hours.

Those damn poets enticed and lulled,

rocked me, rolled me

those damn poets woke me up.

and I don’t dare ask to be pinch, I don’t care if I’m still dreaming.

Those damn poets.

 

1 Comment

  1. Love that a brighter fire was lit under your ass to Validate and keep your pen flowing. If I haven’t told you lately… you are a brilliant writer!

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