If I Could Tell A Story

If I could tell a story,
with sentences well composed,
like stage performers who rose,
when the silence was greatest.
Who wove words like thread
into every shaking head
despite the disapproving glances.
Taking chances on writing
because inside they were fighting
with demons and monsters.

Demons who told them,
they were doing it wrong,
who lied as they cried
singing sad lonely songs.
Conflicted writers,
depicted as fighters
convicted for crimes against speech.
Every voice that took to the stage
and enraged a nation
with ideas thought stupid.

If I could tell a story.
Of the time I was broken,
when I stepped from my bed
as though rudely awoken
by terrors of the night,
who were people I knew,
the bullies who tortured me,
and the unlikely few
Who made it much further,
than I ever could,
and should I follow their footsteps?
Left, right, left again.
and then what?
Nothing but a parrot,
reciting someone else’s story.

If I could tell a story,
nothing gory, nor graphic,
about the time when I decided,
I’d play with the traffic.
Yes. I was foolish
but if it took a car bumper
and a dirty ripped jumper
to give me a story,
I’ve got to do better.

If I could tell a story,
that grows longer each day,
it would give me a reason,
a purpose to stay.
If I could tell a story,
I’d leave it to my mind,
to write and recite the past
that lasted on rewind.

If I could tell a story,
would I shake the world today?
If I could tell a story,
Would you hear the words I say?