Poetry in my place

There will be poetry in my place.

On evenings where we wrote stories to be told to future friends.
In every den we built when we were 8 and every drink we spilt when were 18. In all the questionable bottles we looted and and the high 5’s we so poorly executed. There’s as much poetry in our lips as we chug as there is in our fingertips as we hug.

It’s in my mother's muscles. How, to the naked eye it’s invisible to see what weight she’s carried. The friends she’s buried and the men she’s married.

It’s In silence as much in sound. It’s found in the desperate and passionate. As much as the meek and the modest. It’s in the the sound your feet make when running from something… or to someone. It’s in the silence my friends pill bottle makes when depression is over and done.
It’s in every fight lost but every war won. It’s in your glee after tragedy. In recovery after injury. 

and I like to hope you see in me. See it in my eyes at the same moment you leave. See it in our sheets as it gets harder to breathe. But we don’t care because there’s poetry in there! 

There’s poetry in the time people share.
Poetry in the way fingers interlock and voices grow soft.
Poetry... between us.

But it isn’t always that easy to discuss. Easy to pull from pages into air. Because there’s poetry in that which is unfair. Poetry in the fact that death can bring people together despite the heartbreak. Poetry in the realisation that some people will abuse the only partners they have in this world. Poetry in the girls who refuse to eat because society told them that hungry is synonymous with weak. Poetry in the boys trade kindness for cruelty because they were convinced it would give their likeness a better quality. There’s poetry in there and there’s poetry in the warfare.

And yeah… you might not see it but it’s you too. In the way that you grew and memories you’ve accrued in all the things you wish you could do… and it may sound crude but it’s in the statistical probability that you were the sperm that actually got through and this was the poetry event that you chose to go to. 

This is why I seek art in words, ‘cus there’s as much poetry around us as there is blood in the world. It’s beauty in the overlooked and understanding in the mistook. If you feel anything that’s poetry!
If you love or fear something, the ecstacy or anxiety is poetry! Even if you feel nothing. Even if you wish to leave this life. There’s poetry in your strife. 

I am no superhuman. No prophet, no hero. Just a man with words on a page. But with all this poetry in my head, I no longer fear death. Because if where I rest is in the deep space, if somewhere across this earth I find myself misplaced, if today is truly that final time you see my face,
there will be poetry in my place.

The End

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