The Fear of Being Here

An honest poet bares his soul as he rhymes through his mind.

Image Credit: 
Public Domain

To awe or not to awe? That should be the question
with no morals or laurels left to rest on.
I feel like I’m walking on borrowed time when I’m locked inside my mind,
my needs are few so let me share them with you.
The longest seat on my corner suite meets my needs,
wi-fi high speed and a place to bleed me dry
but with a steady supply of thoughts to process,
the ideas I possess but with a limited access
when I’m flying through madness and back again.
A distinct lack of pain in my extremities
so I try dividing the best of me,
mania congesting things,
it’s testing me, can’t you see?
I don’t cry anymore as I apply to what’s sore
a cerebral liniment as I avoid the imminent fear of just being here.
As I shed yet another skin I feel dread but still begin,
spending time by myself upending and then defending myself,
from this self-built Hell dispelling those to blame,
for giving mad a bad name.
Now I fight with graphite and ink
bringing myself to the brink and causing a distinct stink,
yes, a pungent odour, it’s time I told you
showed you what I deal with every day.
I try to grow in a positive way so I bring day to a close,
with a verse of poetry and prose.
Oh, let me introduce myself.
I am Stefan Gambrell and I’m your chauffeur to through.
But while we are here I will shout this shit loud,
I long to feel proud as I divide the haiku crowd and part prose seas,
it’s a relief for me to see your faces smiling back
as I hack into the fear of just being here.
So as I switch the momentum from you to me,
I will put on a brave face for you all to see,
before my bad thoughts start to run wild and anxiety runs rife.
I was so close to dead until these rhymes saved my life,
and now I am calm, I can shift down from high gear.
I thank all my prose pals for two emotional years.
I’m still trying to fight the fear of just being here.
Please believe what I say and you should mark it in red,
today’s another day I didn’t wish I was dead.

Performance poet Stefan Gambrell, also known as the Neanderthal Bard, has been tearing it a new arsehole for the last few years.

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