I remember where I found this voice,
back in the halls and classrooms of Westdale secondary.
Where the thoughts I wore on my sleeves
were written down, read, and criticized.
Mostly by the teachers who were so unlucky
to be cornered in their classroom during lunch.
Now that dollar store notebook and pencil
that were with me at all hours, back then,
lay on my kitchen table collecting dust
rather than the scribbles of my mind.
What would I write, who would read it?
These days I speak my mind
to those who will listen, or not.
Now I’m going back,
but just for one night, one open mic night.
Back to those familiar faces
that I once wrote for.
Just for one night,
I will feel my heart race,
knowing that all eyes are on me.
Everyone will be silent and waiting,
just to hear the words I speak.