The Open Mic Host Said I Need a "Lighter Set"

read poems about war and breakups. host suggested lighter material. audience clapped anyway. world on fire and i'm asked to juggle. no. poetry is pressure release not party trick. notebook open on the bus and a stranger read over my shoulder without permission. i covered the page and felt territorial. poems are drafts of feelings not ready for audience. city rolled past like b-roll for a life i might describe later if the words cooperate. open mic sign-up list longer than my courage. read anyway because cowardice also ages you. one line landed and one line died and that ratio is acceptable. walked home with change in my pocket and a sentence worth keeping. notebook open on the bus and a stranger read over my shoulder without permission. i covered the page and felt territorial. poems are drafts of feelings not ready for audience. city rolled past like b-roll for a life i might describe later if the words cooperate.

I read poems about war and breakups. The host suggested lighter material. The audience clapped anyway.

World on fire and I am asked to juggle. No.

Poetry is pressure release, not party trick. I am twenty-four. I do not owe strangers comfort.

The lighter set can be someone else's rent. I left with three new friends and one insult worth a stanza.

The story continues in the body after the words stop. Shoulders lower, or they do not. Tomorrow arrives with its own list. I am still here, which is not nothing.

I do not need a moral. I need an honest next step. Sometimes that is rest. Sometimes it is showing up again before you feel ready.

The story continues in the body after the words stop. Shoulders lower, or they do not. Tomorrow arrives with its own list. I am still here, which is not nothing.

I do not need a moral. I need an honest next step. Sometimes that is rest. Sometimes it is showing up again before you feel ready.

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