(2/2) Poetry is a Sport!

Poetry is a solitude sport.

Poetry is an impact sport.

Poetry is bloody knuckles version of solitaire.

It’s do or die.

It’s up against the wall,

not you vs. some other guy.

It’s you vs. you in all.

Sweat pours from your brow

as you take pen to paper

With no one to consult or bow

you have to be your own savior.

There are no replacements coming.

There is no second string.

It’s you,

you vs. this thing.

The thing inside of you that makes you write.

The thing inside of you that makes you not right.

The thing that makes the way you see the world a little bit different,

Like a child on a merry go round

You watch as the world spins round.

And you see the colors

And you hear the music

And you feel the rush of the wind against your very skin…

But no one else does.

They do not see the way the words flow out of your fingers.

Out of your skin,

Out of the tips of your hair

And into this computer,

Into this pen and paper

Into this hidden notebook.

And they don’t see the way your fingers just can’t type fast enough

And the way your lips spit out the words onto the page but they don’t come out just right.

And the way you have to pause because typing this fast makes your muscles hurt.

The way you’ve got your teeth clenched, slamming down the space bar, rocking back and forth because the words can’t flow fast enough from you onto the page!

No one sees that.

They don’t see the way it tears open your chest leaving you exposed.

It’s the metaphorical pants drop.

The time you let it slip that you loved him.

The time you cried because you couldn’t keep it together.

The time you said exactly what was on your mind

And it’s that free fall.

That freefall into silence as you wait to see how the people around you react.

People don’t see that poetry,

Poetry is a sport.

It’s fencing yourself.

Tip to tip,

Blade to blade.

With words and emotions and feelings and truths that you can’t say out loud,

But somehow you’ve got to get it on the page,

Got to get it out.

You’re fighting yourself.

The self that says no one must know

And the one that says honey, just let it show.