Thank You

I watch with awe as my hand bleeds blue ink onto the bone white page.
Staining it’s pale perfection with my song.
For what is poetry but the lyrics of ourselves?

I scribble myself onto paper
Then type it into this digital world.
To be read and critiqued by strangers in this cyber café,
While they sip java with their eyes.

They caution me on my form.
Suggesting how to better shape my heart with words and punctuation ,
As I kneel before then naked.
Shivering with the heady, contradictory mix of excitement and trepidation.

I flinch only slightly at their gently worded nudges.
Cheeks flushing that fear has made me sloppy.
Sending my rough drafts into the everything
Before I can burn them.
For like recalcitrant children they have not behaved as I wish.
Frustration makes me afraid that if not quickly sent,
I will hastily discard yet another piece of me.

Am I crazy?
A masochist?
Or just lonely and through with being silent?
Why do I print myself for their consumption?
I don’t know why, but I want what they have to say.
Is this bravery or greed?

I let them teach me.
I plug in and download their knowledge of this
Ancient language into myself.
Taking every comment as a gift.
Grateful that they cared enough to speak.

So here I kneel, feeding myself to the big bad wolf of avid eyes.
Hopeful that with their instruction I can
Pattern my patois into something more visually palatable.
While praying that I don’t lose me in the dictums of verse.