I’m a Poet

Nervously I walk up to an open mic
To read a poem I hope you’ll like.
I’m seeking validation as a poet,
Hoping your response will show it,
And by your response I’ll finally know it–
I have been, will be, am a poet.

I’ve written poetry for years, but rarely shared.
An introvert, full of doubt, I never dared
To read my poems in which my soul I bared–
I was too scared.

For years I waxed and waned, ebbed and flowed.
My career led me down a different road.
Yet whenever I picked up a paper and pen
And wrote a poem I felt whole again.

I grew old fighting the demons of self-doubt;
“Damn the demons”, I heard myself shout
It’s finally time for me to come out
And declare I’m a poet; it’s what my life’s all about.

Poetry helped me to deal with my life;
The abuse, the self-harm, the rage and the strife.
I wielded my poetry like it was a knife,
To hurt the person who’d given me life.

It worked for a while, when I wrote I felt free
Of the hole in my soul, gnawing at me.
And then I had an epiphany,
The only person I was hurting was me.
I stopped using words as weaponry
And soothed my wounds with poetry.

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We Hold the Pen

Life is written line by line
and each of us holds the pen.

A page is only paper
until we stain it with meaning

pressing point to parchment,
striking a spark
souls catching fire
one phrase at a time,
leaving bright imprints
burned into memory.

A stage is only silence
until we speak our stories
waves of words
washing over, carrying us
from isolation
into community,
turning listeners into witnesses,
and witnesses into believers 

somewhere between
the quiet of the page and the
pulse of the stage,
words become connection,
connection becomes courage,
and lives are transformed.

One story. One voice. One line at a time.

We hold the pen.

What mark will you leave?

Inspired by feedback from the Poetry & Prose Network community.

A reminder that every person has a story worth telling and the power to shape what comes next.

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