Thresheld

The pen is mightier than the sword [*]

Let me start by saying, I hate cliches,
but they are relevant to this spoken word,
so please exuse my first offense:
You have to see it to believe it..
so take a closer look at me.

Look at this jacket, these pants, these shoes, and don't get me started on my meticulous beauty regiment.
My point is, I put a lot of care into presenting myself, but
it's only a cover for how ugly I feel inside.

Now... Look at these scars.
Look at all these tallies I've recorded on my skin
like a criminal rakes rocks on the wall in prison day after day, cell after cell.
Do you want to know why?
Well so do I, but all I know is I don't just judge myself, I also jury and execute myself every time I make a mistake.

This is hard for me to admit,
and it's not something I'd like to do in front of an audience,
but I have to put my story out there,
not to justify my actions,
but to show you that it's never too late to rebuild yourself even in the face of your most defining tragedy.
I know that sounds cliche, but I lived through it after

 the death of my father before his time
in an accident that could have been avoided without booze,
which I used to mitigate that pain
to the point I blamed myself.
I couldn't get the image of angels out of my head, on either side of him weeping with remorse that their intangible arms couldn't catch him as he fell down that stair case, and
In that moment I felt like it was my fault,
but I couldn't admit it to anyone,
so I selfishly did the deed I felt I needed to,
because bleeding makes sense, while trying to understand why someone is leaving you only leads to it.

I remember my first open mic.
It was like I finally found a way to put down the blade. I remember the people I got through to. Suddenly I could take my blight, and use it to provide insight, and that's my destiny.

No, I'm not ashamed to live with my history, because it's not my fault how I was raised, or why I've lived through so much tragedy, but I still feel ugly inside,
because it had to get to this point after so many years of feeling worthless, now I can share this sentiment, because I know I was never alone, and neither are any of you.

So don't be afraid to pick up the phone even if it's half past two in the morning, and your driving yourself crazy trying to write a poem that shares your scars however deep or plump or red they are like I did every night last week. As hard as it was it made me realize just how important it is to have support.

Really all you should know is one last cliche,
(this ink might sink in,
but I will never break my skin again,)
because my reticence ended
when I dropped the sword,
and picked up the pen.