Put into perspective,
microphone and speaker,
butterflies gone wild,
nerves just make me weaker.
Boldly leaning forward,
I speak with gentle tones
knowing what a pain they are,
these cursed microphones
My words somehow reach outward,
my voice echoes through the room,
my heart is pumping, beating, pounding,
I hear it’s constant boom.
With confidence I finish,
though I stuttered once or twice,
for my first time, it went by fine,
I guess it can suffice
And still my heart is pounding,
still it feels like world war three,
It’s over now, I don’t know how,
it’s over and I’m free.
I did my first ever piece of poetry in front of a crowd last night (My poem Con) and it was terrifying. The world looks completely different when you’re stood in the spotlight.