There are no dreaming spires
and I don’t live in a castle
and sometimes grey concrete makes me feel sad.

But pubs and winding streets
and words with beats have made me mad.
Madly in love,
madly inspired
mad with the need to feel desired.
Mad with language,
mad in my heart and soul
enchantingly mad, because now I know;
you can’t photograph this ecstasy and sell it to the world
but I can feel it curled
inside of me, ready to unfurl
like I might burst with the need
to make you see
that this,
this is what it means to be free.
Because when I speak,
speak words with beats,
speak in a rhythm that I never knew I knew
Ii makes me weak.
Makes me dizzy,
dizzy with pleasure,
dizzy with the need to make this my forever,
to do it always, however, wherever,
to dance this dance
and glance
around a crowded room
to catch an eye and see it locked on me
see interest bloom.
Because when I rhyme
the world seems bright
and I see that everything I write might be all right.
More than all right for just one moment
as I take flight, and my words are potent
in the palm of my hand
and they can make you understand
that words with beats
are magical.
That they have set me free,
and made me, me
and taught me how to take a stand.
Made me mad.

There are no dreaming spires
and I don’t live in a castle
but grey concrete has made me come alive.

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