Fear of speaking out loud

Last night, I finally had the opportunity to attend Modwords. For those of you not familiar this is a Spoken Word event being put together by the very talented Anna Jordan. For lack of a better description it is an open mic but for poetry or anything resembling poetry. It's been running for a few months but it has had the misfortune of being hosted on nights where I am working late so last night was the first time I was fortuitous enough to be able to attend.

I have never hidden my love of poetry. It's always been a form of literature that has spoken to me on another level. Expressing emotional states that ordinary language cannot do justice to. I once used to have some of my favourite poems typed and stuck to my bedroom walls, something that seems terribly juvenile now but at the time it seemed important that I could access these words whenever I desired and every time they struck a chord.

It's fair to say I have been writing poetry since I was 15. Most of my earliest mumblings are long destroyed for posterity's sake and prevent someone discovering them later on in life and blackmailing me unless I wanted them to see the light of day. My early stuff had a very strong focus on rhyme and teenage angst. To be fair to my teenage self I was particularly angsty and I went through a few rough years that warranted a lot of moody poems. I have since learned that you can have a rhythm in your poems without necessarily having a rhyme and my work has definitely improved. That's not to say that it's actually any good but comparatively it's better. It's also incredibly raw and personal. Letting someone read it is like letting them see all the dark and ugly bits deep inside of me. 

 I do enjoy listening to spoken word and if there was more of it on then I would surely be there. I find with open mic shows that contain music I tend to tune out about five or six songs in. I can't help it. on the other hand with spoken word I find I could sit all day given a comfortable enough seat. I would content to observe and absorb. However upon arrival I was asked if I would be reading anything. Admittedly not a totally mad question given that I am a writer of sorts and a decent chunk of my poetry is available on my blog for anyone to see. Somehow that feels different because posting it online allows me to share it without actually acknowledging that's what I am doing.

When asked if I would read I think I felt my heart in my mouth and probably a tiny bit of vomit. I politely declined  and made my way to a seat down the back. As time unfolded many talented men and women made their way to the stage and I was blown away by the amount of talent this city contains. Startling delivery and powerful words and I slid down in my seat with little to offer. The more I heard, the less I wanted to put myself up on that stage. I would have been shakey and unprepared and that's even if I had something written worthy of sharing, I don't and my words feel too personal, too much of me is poured into each poem so that if someone does not like my poem, by extension they do not like me. They find me lacking in some way just as I have always suspected. So my words will remain scribbled on pieces of paper, unseen or hastily posted on this blog where I can pretend I haven't really shared them and no one will really acknowledge that I have but they are not ready to be spoken aloud.

as a side note. I wrote this when left unattended without my phone for 5 minutes, tonight

Socially awkward

There's no scent quite like that of social awkwardness 

a hum in the room

a feeling as though I am invisible

yet standing in the spotlight

suddenly I forget how to sit in a casual manner 

and wonder what people usually do with their hands

How do other people cope in a crowd

I thought I used to know

perhaps, I was lying to myself

masking everything in a film of alcohol

Wish I could melt into the background,

become an unknown in a sea of nothing.