Open Mic
Your youth leader Charlie finds out that you like to write poetry—great! So does he. He tells you about a poetry night downtown, at the big ol coffee shop, that is pretty popular. You decide to give it a whirl.
The list goes out at 8, and you show up sharp, disappointed to find that the sheet is empty, and you aren’t having to fight off other dedicated poets for the chance to read their work. You sign up at number three, get a coffee, and wait.
The ringleaders are these smoking, enigmatic, slightly rotund guys, Nate and Micheal. They are potentially pansexual, men at the edge of trying anything, currently on poetry. They're really rad and totally unlike anything you've wncountered before.
They call up first, lo and behold, your youth counselor. He reads a poem about loving his wife that’s a metaphor about eating grapefruit, that’s supposed to be infinitely sexual, and even though it seems sweet, you don’t get the references. Next, some long haired guy who reads too slow.
Then it’s your turn.
You walk up with your handwritten pages. A small black and white square print babydoll dress. Nothing opens up to swallow you, so you get in front of the mic.
Before you know it, you are screaming into the microphone, all the power in the world rushed your way at once, and you're simply a conduit for the force of it. You want to stop being quiet for once, and instead everything is fine for a few moments.
To go make some friends.
To write some more killer work, uhm get off the internet and do it, then.
