Wednesday, January 8, 2014

Good night free write

Home from Da Poetry Lounge. Thankful for my life. Tonight a man read his poem. He stood in front of the mic stand with his beautiful booming voice while another man held his paper for him because he, the poet, had no arms. And read a poem about being put up for adoption. And then being put up for adoption again. And also about not being comfortable with his reflection. And as much as I love poetry and words already, I fell deeper in love with this craft. This art. This thing we do called storytelling. Where we get to empty our deepest pain and insecurity to a crowd of people we may never know again, and be known like we never were before.

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