The Mic

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The air rests motionless, frozen like me

In its calm floats a feeling of electricity.

This static charges my heart, and fills me with fear,

erecting hairs on my neck, it is all too clear;

something must happen; I open my mouth,

but there is only a murmur, that of a mouse.

My eyes, drawn to the red of the sign,

On Air, these words I read in my mind.

But I'm still;

I do not move;

come on;

there's nothing to lose.

This air, so charged with my fear,

and without my even knowing I hear;

Is that my voice?

Could it be?

Let me listen, and let me see!

Truly I cannot say these words with such proficiency!

But just as crystal as a stream is clear,

those are my words, for the world to hear.

Then with a start

I feel it in my heart,

A heaving, swift movement my body filled in a flood;

could it possibly be, this great motion my own life blood?

Again this spark,

filling my soul, illuminating the dark.

I'm alive; I can feel it now;

no longer will the sweat drip from my brow!

I am here; for once and for ever more.

My feet forever planted, bound to the very structure of this floor;

My smile widens from my cheeks to my ear,

through the silence and the deadly static; my own voice, I hear.

I have done it, now I see,

No longer I only listen, but now, the DJ I'll be.

Commanding the airwaves, this isn't so bad,

these might be tears, but I assure you.

I'm not sad.

This poem is about: 
Me

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