Poetry is my best friend. In poetry is the only place where I am completely honest. Sometimes calculated. Sometimes not. Sometimes complete. Sometimes schizophrenic. Poetry never judges me or offers an unwarranted opinion. With poetry, I am always in control.

But when I share this poetry…my best friend…with others, I am vulnerable. The lack of reciprocity in my life…my fears, vices, forbidden emotions, disregard of social norms, the things that REALLY make me happy…it’s all exposed and offered over to an uncontrollable, unpredictable, instigating audience. That was the issue I had with judges scoring my performances with scoreboards. But they were strangers. What’s really heart-wrenching is when someone you truly care about is judging you with his or her facial expression and body language (verbalized praise or discontent is ALWAYS calculated and patronizing).

I remember once, butterflies and all, I revealed myself to a seemingly promising beau…he ended up being death personified…I think he jovially played house with at least five of the seven deadly sins. So now I’m supposed to speak you my thoughts… share with you my best friend like it’s the first time…butterflies and all…like I’ve never been hurt before…hmm…