#17 healing poetry; what she did

She was tall, thin, with a voice that spoke like she had a twin wrapped up in her voicebox
I felt lost, awakening to the beginning, of my own limits. Limits that became clear,
When she spoke.

Beautiful, with a presence that defied.
That’s it, she just defied…
I suppose she might say society,
But she wore her loneliness and hurt,
Like armour.

Was some part of me jealous?

I hid my insecurities like rags, or dirty washing.
Never to be seen by others,
And here she shone
As she called to the rafters to kneel down and listen
To everything she had done
To let herself be known.

I was in awe.

The truth is, a man has never made me feel the way a woman with power has.
The truth is, a woman with power, has never made me feel the way a man has – even if it’s just under the sheets.

She spoke to me, after a poetry reading, once.

I was convinced that I was taking up her time,
But as a man interrupted us,
She made it clear I had her attention.

Briefly, I wondered if she would let me taste her lips.

The ones that entranced me, lit up by stage lights –
It wasn’t about the lips, by then,
I was a little in love with how she treated men,
Around me.

Instantly, I berated myself, for a thought I was not supposed to have.

I excused myself,
And we –
Never spoke, never met again.

I remember her voice on nights where I can’t find my soul,

Usually because I’ve locked it up,
Because I’m scared and I don’t talk about it,

Stand up and demand attention for the strength it takes to talk about it,
The way she did.

Though I shivered at her vulnerability,
There’s a part of me that reaches back to years ago,
Standing outside a theatre,
On a night lit up with stars,

Wondering what it would be like, to taste a poet’s lips,
On a night lit up with her voice.

I left that place not too long after,
With people in my head, hearts collected around my waist,
And a short regret that I never did do,
What she did.

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