Ninjas attacked. Seven stitches in right hand index finger. Nicked tendon. Typing with one hand for another week 
The one time I kind of wish I were a horny net geek guy who had developed that skill.
Holdover: another slam poem: The Cure
Tonight it is with trepidation
That I approach the stage
The microphone
The audience
The words
The truth
Shaking like an addict
Because the reality is
That I am not good at this
I cower in the face of power
And you’re holding all the cards
At your first glance
I’ve got confidence
I take the chance
But you’re the ones judging
ones scoring
ones with a stopwatch
ones that decide
In seven freaking seconds
or less
If you’ll even listen
It’s the radio
Without hiding behind the microphone
I’m so afraid you will be
Tuning out of this
Poetry station
Because my creation
Is full of trepidation
And says too much
About my aspiration
To avoid stagnation
And get better at flirtation
Because it’s all manipulation
Of the words that are my
Intoxication
My vocal vibration
The summation
Of your expectation
Your score the incarceration
Of my liberation
And yet I come back
I’m the one writing
With a pen
That decides
In seven freaking hours
Or more
What the hell I’ll even say
At my first glance
You’re hostile
And I cower in the face
Of your power
But words are drugs
Poetry the syringe
That fills our veins
With syllable chasers
And meter munchies
That are impossible to resist
There’s a reason
It’s called
A slam
Like vodka burning
The delicate tissues
Of your throat
Someone’s words
Will burn into your soul
If not tonight
Then tomorrow
Because words are drugs
And I failed DARE
This microphone
Is the birthstone
Of so many words
scattered and sewn
And a few words
Planted and grown
I’ve listened to you
And I’ve decided that
These words are irresistible
And incurable
They’re impossible
Incomprehensible
Incompatible
Infallible
And despicable
Yet, with the door open,
I am caught
And refuse to escape
Or leave this birthstone alone
I must stand, shaking like an addict
In front of the ones judging
scoring
with a stopwatches
that decide
In three freaking minutes
or less
If these words are worth it
The reality is
That I cower in the face of power
And you’re holding all the cards
But words are drugs
And lest I implode
I need my hit
Despite judgment
or Advancement
or Argument
This is my ailment
And I hope they never find
A fucking cure
