Tuesday, February 18, 2003 :::
How Many Mics (Fugees)
On the brink I stop to think that I can do this, but stress sets in and I begin to doubt what I’m all about. On stage it feels a little too real so I pause to steel a minute before I can begin it. I speak… but nothing comes out and again I being to doubt. My words are written with the true intent for me to share… but with fear progressing it’s like I don’t even care. How so? I want everyone to know. On stage I stare at my captive listeners. Wondering how long I can pause before my listeners become whisperers. Under their breath I hear my fear and it’s all again just a little to real. With the spotlight glaring it feels as though I’m baring the weight of the entire room on my shoulders. The stage gets a little colder.
Still on spot I being to plot my ungraceful exit. In my head I try to make believe that I can leave without regret, and that one day I might forget. Can I? Sure I can, but then again it’ll be in the back of my head, and every night I’ll lay in bed thinkin’ “damn. I shoulda spoke instead.” I start to feel as though maybe I can let my feelings go and then I can show my reasons for stepping on stage. What was written wasn’t written to be kept on a page. Courage creeps and it seems to seep from within my heart and my fear and I begin to part. I write what I feel is right, and hopefully I can recite without an internal fight. My eyes focus forward towards the crowd. Wondering how to make my soft voice loud. My lips quiver as I begin to deliver my long awaited package. Silence broken as unspoken words become spoken. Everything begins to flow as I let everything I had inside go. Let me let you know. (Insert poem here…)
::: posted by boots at 10:04 AM
