I CAME TO THE CROWD

So, tonight, I went out. . .again. It's a bit early to say I'm becoming quite the socialite. We didn't go to some club, or a bar. We went to the Kamikaze Coffee Shop on Warrensville Center Road. For the past few years, they've been having an open mic night for poets. Looking back, I'm not sure why I was so nervous about getting on that stage, but tonight. . .I DID IT!!!

Tameka signed me up, I protested slightly, but something inside of me urged me to go on. I emailed my poem to my cell phone, since my printer is down, and I didn't have time to write it out. Of course the reception in the spot was crappy, so I was about to give up. . .of course that voice pushed me on, so therefore I ran out to Tameka's car and jotted the poem down quickly with a few changes.

I was a virgin. . .as they say. Everyone stood and gave me love as I approached the stage. I read this sexually charged, erotic piece of poetry. I got "alrights," and snaps and all that. I am so happy. I got love that I've never felt before. I popped my cherry right on the stage.

Seriously. . .It felt like some sort of shield was removed from my body, and a new woman stepped out. Maybe this is the poet in me coming out. I don't know. But the feeling I felt when I said the last line will be with me forever. I realized that I am a writer. I was born to perform my poetry onstage. I have to do it again.

I'm telling you, I am coming down from an awesome high. It feels like I smoked something lethal. I'm hungry, sleepy, happy, horny and excited. People congratulated me as I walked out of the door, and told me how awesome the poem I read was. I just love when other poets praise me.

From what I've heard, when you get that first hit or whatever you smoke, it appeals to you so much. You yearn for the next time you connect with that drug.

Hi, my name is Shatira. I'm a poet, and I am addicted to the mic. I'm itching for my next hit.

I came to the crowd seeking friends
I came to the crowd seeking love
I came to the crowd for understanding
--Taken from Nikki Giovanni's 'You Came Too'


For the curious. . .this is the poem I read tonight. . .enjoy.

When Can I Write About Love?
When can I write love poems again?
I mean, I wanna write about wet spots left on my sheets, body tingling for weeks and puddles left on my belly.
Being someone’s ride or die chick fucking hard while listening to Makaveli.
Or lying beside a conscious brother head bobbing to Talib Kweli
I wanna write about him constantly on my mind, eagerly waiting the instant until again I stare into his eyes so divine.
I wanna write about stretching fifteen minute breaks into however long it takes to make the windows of his car fog…
I wanna write about long lasting lingering hugs and finding the perfect man, polite with a touch of thug
I wanna fill notebooks with notions about loving him so much, anticipating his touch, and admitting when I’m alone, thinking of him, myself I touch
When will I be able to write about love?
I wanna write about how when he is far, I am still wrapped in his closeness, how I’m relieved that my quest wasn’t hopeless.
I didn’t know I would be able to cope this long without the strong inspiration of love
I need inspirational love. When will I fall in love?
I wanna fall in love just so I can write about it.
I wanna write about indulging in you, tasting you like sweetest fruit, savoring the juice extracted from you.
I wanna write about time standing still when we are alone but together…
Seconds seeming like forever, minutes mounting in hours which are painstakingly difficult to conquer, and days dragging me along.
I wanna write a line that simply says, thoughts of you keep me sane, I stare at your picture in the frame, last night I lost count of how many times I came.

I wanna write love poems like, sunlight dims in the radiance of our union, my essence moves in unison with the core of you, I adore you, I give my love to you, I need more of you.
But the words don’t form as long as my heart remains scorned.
So I impatiently wait until love begins to form….Impatiently Yours.