Last spring I thought about participating in the poetry slam. Every decision I make I remind myself of Hamlet's “to be or not to be.” In this case, I was torn between the fear of public speaking and at the same time, I wanted to surprise myself by doing something outside my comfort zone while making a statement to the audience: “to be or not to be is the question”. I became anxious and these questions were overwhelming, so I signed my name on the dotted line. I’d rather be someone who is forever changing! And what better way to do it than something I never imagined doing.
I prepared my poem. I knew what I needed to say. It’s time to let all these insecurities go and to let people in or maybe let them walk away.
Montgomery College is so rich with opportunity in every corner. This poetry slam was not only a step of courage for me, it was a step of something much BIGGER! This poem has allowed me to reach out and touch people. That to me is the most frightening idea. Why you may ask? Simply because people out there believe in what I say. That’s humbling, and I am scared I could say the wrong thing.
I would like to share my poem in this blog. It’s called SCARS! I will warn that this is not a blissful poem, but a poem that shows pain.
You think you know me? You think I'm an attention dweller?
No! I'm a cutter with a secret. Yea, that’s what I am.
My urges to cut are strong, like the nicotine in your cigarettes.
Long sleeves in the summer time to keep warm from the icy glares.
Walk with my head down...ashamed of the story written all over my arm.
I can't stop! It's the same way you drowned sorrows away with liquor.
An alcoholic who won't put down the bottle. I'm NOT an alcoholic, but I understand the lonely nights you sat up awake.
Wanting to be someone else! Wanting another life!
Afraid of death, yet a coward who hides away in that broken forsaken home, surrounded by fears of life.
Memories so vivid, memories that haunt and consume my mind, memories that destroy my light;
Piercing pain in my chest with every lifeless breath.
Tears of blood roll down my arm yet...my eyes stay dry.
GOD, do you see this? I bleed black; the color of my soul.
More dark than the shadows of the night.
Pagan creatures praise the illuminating moon as I enjoy the loneliness of night.
Isolated, trapped by my repeating thoughts. racing, lapping around my insane mind.
STOP! I shout!
My wounds become bigger, the sharp blade digs deeper. "Down the street" I go.
Flesh rips down my wrist, pools of crimson blood overflow and stain my pale, delicate skin.
My soft lips quiver. My body grows weak, my head feels heavy.
I feel anxious with the idea I might cut too deep.
Gambling with my life with a stroke of a knife.
Like an adrenalin junkie, I feel more alive with the risk of losing it all!
I'll shut my eyes with hopes of being buried 6 feet under.
I'll shut my eyes with hopes of never waking up.
But...God, seems to have a purpose for me. I have more lives than a cat.
The reaper refuses to take my hand, for it's not my time.
Sounds of birds sing once again.
Lets have a toast, for the sun peaks over the horizon.
Another night survived. I'll put down the knife.
My pores breathe in the warmth of the sun even on an early December morning.
I'll put down the knife, walk away into the world.
I'll forget this night ever happened.
But my scars leave a mark...they leave a story upon my flesh.
Vulnerable to the words of man kind.
You call me weak!
You call me damned!
But...that's not what I am.
You think you know me?
Yea, I'm a cutter with a secret.
My pain is more than skin deep.
I wanted to share this poem because it’s now a published poem. I am very proud and very happy that MC has given me a chance to speak my mind. This experience has taught me to fight and push hard toward my goals in life. If you are a poet or you have something inside that you need to release. Sign up for the poetry slam!