I won third place at a writer’s open mic night today. This is all I remember about the experience.
Everything seems kind of far away
like I’m looking the wrong way through binoculars.
That’s weird.
The paper crinkles in my hand a bit,
and although I’m sure it’s only loud to me
I cringe.
Even as I gaze out
and speak awkwardly into the microphone
I don’t really see anything.
Just shapes, colors, textures in his hair
God, that hair is curly.
But why am I not looking at you?
Honestly, you’re really the only one I want to impress
The only one that makes me feel both powerful and
incredibly, utterly, unendingly
insignificant.
You make me want to be smart,
not just pretend to be smart.
I read a poem about a friend
and I hear a few chuckles here and there
and a few sighs of sympathy.
Then I read a poem about penises,
and wishing I could pee standing up.
My face feels like there’s a millimeter thick mask on my face
that burns like the heating pad
my mom used to give me when I had cramps.
It was ugly and light turquoise
and it reminded me of sickness, and hospital rooms.
Have I ever even been in a hospital room?
Because I’m a good speech goon,
I look up from time to time as I read,
taking the time to pause strategically,
continue blushing from the whoops and waves of laughter
but I don’t really see anything.
I see him, but that’s mostly because he’s right up front.
And when I say I see him, I use the word loosely
Because I don’t really see anything.
Hypothetically, you’re right behind him
and because I’m higher up, on the stage, behind the podium
I should be able to see you
But I don’t.
I think I’m… afraid.
Afraid to look up at you and see you not laughing
See you just staring at me blankly
as I ramble on about yellow Hummers and boobs.
I think what scares me the most, though,
is looking up and seeing you laughing your ass off
and still feeling
inadequate.
Congratulations!!!!!