Leaves, Seasons, and Dead Trees (BxB)

8. - Eyes See, Ears Hear, Mouth Speaks

"It's better to feel pain than nothing at all.
The opposite of love's indifference."

- "Stubborn Love" by The Lumineers -

*****

Samuel

"Good luck, man." Craig gives me a reassuring smile and flashes two thumbs up. Shifting my gaze to the other present club members, I am enveloped by a whispered chorus of cheers, praises, and words of encouragement. But as I steal a two-second glance at the bustling café on this Sunday night, my heart sinks.

Even though I've been a part of this club for a little more than a month now, my confidence is still a constant work in progress, one that seems to never end. Hell, maybe it'll always be a work in progress as I always find excuses not to perform.

But, well, today is the day I forget to have excuses.

Oh shit... Oh shit, I suddenly need to take a shit! Stupid physiological response!

The sight of the vacant stage and the unoccupied microphone stand before me hits me like a dolly effect, especially with expectant eyes fixated on me, waiting for Verse Vortex to deliver yet another memorable performance. While it's comforting to know that the café is indeed owned by an alumnus of HU, the boring eyes behind me are enough for me not to see the forest for the trees.

Out of nowhere, a firm pat lands on my shoulder. I turn my head and see Brenda leaning closer to my flattened ears. "Trust me. You're reading this for yourself, not for them." But before I can object, Brenda nudges me toward the riser. Ever the people pleaser, I find myself ascending the riser steps. The neon yellow glow of the words "Perk and Pages" momentarily blinds my vision before I finally face the audience, my heart feels as though it is about to leap out of my chest.

"Um... Good night, everyone." I pause, expecting responses, then mentally facepalm myself. Why am I expecting a response from the audience? I remind myself that I'm here to perform, not to demand their attention. Yet, as I steal a glance at the club members, their encouraging gestures offer evergreen support. Amidst the crowd as well, a familiar face waves at me, and I am finally reminded that Poppy, Matty, Quinlan, and Elodie are here, specifically to watch my performance.

I convince myself to make them all my muse tonight.

Be. Angry. You're angsty, you can do that. You've memorized, you've practiced, you've— Oh, shit, my shit!

"I'm Samuel... from Verse Vortex."

Keep going, keep going, keep going—

"Tonight, I'm, uh, gonna recite you guys my poem, 'Eyes See, Ears Hear, Mouth Speaks.'"

You can do this. Just do it. Just fucking do it. Oh no, I hope Nike won't copyright my inner monologue.

Inhaling deeply, I clear my throat, centering my thoughts on the verses of my poem etched in my mind. There's no room for embarrassment now, not when I've summoned the courage to confront my crippling stage fright.

So as the first word of my poem slips from my lips, the world around me distorts into a blur.

It is not long ago that I find myself hoping. And yearning. And wanting this and that,
like a naive child entering the toy store for the first time after years of simple looking.
But everybody knows that hoping is a double-edged sword that can either save you
or kill you very, very slowly as the last drip of faith leaks out along with your drying tears.
I can tell you about many more symbolism and experiences about how it feels to be hopeless,
but being here, all awkward and unmemorable, I still want to learn how to stop being so helpless.