A Spoken word poem by a good friend

On the rare occasion I have words.
When I was a teen I use to write half of what I thought, crumple it up and throw it away.
I never could quite get out what I felt .
And I burnt a lot of those half journal entries in a moment of purging myself of a really hard time of my life. That felt good. It still does. I am glad I did it.
Expression is a miracle to me.
Like a gift from heaven that I receive from God himself.
So when I have a song, or poem or a note to play that feels organic to the expression of an emotion I feel, I am overcome with elation. I can imagine it would be a similar yet much less tangible feeling as to giving birth. Although I have not experienced that .
Birthing words hurts. And when it happens in truth and honesty I feel joy.

I am thankful for songs and words that other people have. Especially when I can't find my own.
They make me feel connected to the human race. Expression does that.
Recently my friend Matthew Davidson member of the Victoria spoken word Slam team wrote this poem.
I connect with this poem. Or more over this poem connects with me....
And therefore I wanted to share it with you....


CONFESSION.      By. Matthew Christopher. Davidson.

I keep watching you fall apart

watching your freckles turn to shine like tiny pebbles 

washed in small rivers that wind across your face

every time you begin to open

with broken battle-cries your brave words false start

your heart cracks

and honesty always straight-smack dissolves you in the end

when you drizzle into wet confusion, 

waterfall into unexpected confessions

that leave you wondering where the safe places are 

because you can't even keep your own secrets in your head

can't silence these lines around your eyes broadcasting sadness

so who the hell else can you trust to wrap your 

darkness in warm cover under blazing tabloid madness, 

with gossip running brazen and flagrant through 

shock-hungry worlds like cocaine fire in our veins

but the fact is that the truth remains our anchor

keeps us grounded when bottled-up words 

would have just gotten us high on the things we kept inside, 

in those moments we should have just busted open like 

overinflated balloons but instead like kids 

we just let them float away and

so as a man I want to stand here and say

hey, don't ever stop talking

we've been walking through this cold finding heat like 

two old birds heading south and all I know right now is that

your mouth is a fault line in the universe that grace is breaking through

and you 

are the most beautiful mess I've ever known

I don't have answers to all your questions 

but the best wonders in life are made more wondrous 

by knowing you don't have to ask these things alone

and if it takes us getting messy to finally come clean 

then let's fuck that shit up, yo.  

let's roll up our sleeves and plunge our hands in dirt, 

work this ground until it bleeds out life and muddies up our shirts; 

let's swear to tell the truth no matter how much it hurts.

and when it comes to secrets 

I can't promise to keep my mouth shut; 

my tongue trips over itself in spite of myself and 

my mind is a revolving door, but I will promise you this:  

I will bury your darkness in my forgetfulness

because for every sin you've confessed 

I could confess a hundred more.

and when it comes to safety, 

I can promise that I will open my mouth wide and cover you with my words

because you are worth speaking up for.