Last night at our church, we hosted a spoken word open mic night with Micah Bournes, a phenomenal spoken word poet who is well worth your time. You can check him out here. For the event, we planned to have 45 minutes of open mic time where 15 people could share a poem and then Micah would perform some of his work for the latter half of the night.
When the night began, we had 5 signs up, 3 of whom (myself included) helped plan the event. I was worried that the whole thing would be a major flop. And then the first person shared their poem. It was their first spoken word, they were nervous and unsure of how to share it. He spoke of his experience growing up in a Korean family, the foods he ate, the challenges he faced, and how it shaped who he was and is. It was beautiful.
And the next person, a high school senior, shared her experience of being both Hungarian and American and the tension she feels between these two cultures.
And then suddenly, more people came up to the mic, sharing poetry they had brought but were initially too scared to perform. And as each person shared of their own experiences, it was incredible to see strangers suddenly sharing their own fears, vulnerabilities, struggles, and doubts. The poetry wasn’t necessarily amazing. But it was honest and true. And that made it worthwhile.
After the evening was over, a student shared with me a poem he was unable to perform in front of the group. He noted how people have asked him how he could be depressed considering all the good things in his life. He then went on to describe some of the painful experiences he had experience. And as he shared it with me, I couldn’t help but cry because poetry became a medium for him to express what was in his heart.
I have cognitively known that art had a way of breaking past surface level defenses and revealing heart and soul, but I had never seen it in action. Until last night.
I don’t think I will now become a poet laureate who travels the world sharing with everyone my masterful poems which reveal the true human experience. But I plan to go to more open mic nights here or there, just to get a glimpse of people’s souls I might not normally see. And I may write a poem here or there, but they won’t be very good.
Micah Bournes said in one his poems last night, “God is like a remote, you know he’s here, but you can’t find him right now.” After last night’s open mic, I think I got a glimpse of him.
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