Why we write (perform)

I wrote this mainly about slam poets, and why they do what they do, but it can apply to all poets. You can see I do a little name dropping (Dennis Florine, Regie Gibson, and Sekou tha Misfit), but it is not to make me look cool, it is because they apply the most in this poem, and because I love them, however you interpret that statement. Anyway, here we go.

We write poetry to try and understand
The things we never will
Like Purpose, time, love, hate
And ourselves.
Depressed children write to try and see why
There is a void in their emotions,
Even though the world they live in
Is seemingly perfect
And those who don�t write, or can�t
Resort to bleeding
They open there wrists like a river dam
And an avalanche of feeling rushes out
Then, the tightness being relieved
They find the ability to write
And they do so to try to understand
Like all of us here tonight
Because frankly, we just don�t get it
Or if some of you do understand,
You don�t grasp why it is that the rest of us don�t
So you claim three minutes in the microphone
To send a message, or tell a story
Or explain the things that you finally understand
Sekou, he found out that jobs should be secondary
To passion
And that time is something we all waste
And want more than anything
And Dennis,
He found out that the walls
Have ears
And that all they are hearing these days
Are insults, anger, and hate.
Regie,
Discovered that if you watch
A tapestry of sound being weaved
You will learn what it really is
Like that little man loved
Rosita Mae
And I believe that I am on the verge of a breakthrough
In this field of metaphysical meaning
And unseen truths hidden behind poor syntax
And this revelation did not come easy
I saw humans who could change the world
With their words
And I have seen those,
Who think that poetry is simply a joke
And that you can all point and laugh at a man
Or woman, who is trying to help you see
I have eaten, breathed, and slept with the
Metaphors, similes, alliterations, and personifications
They and I have an intimacy
Because they know all I want to do is understand them
And raise them up
On a pedestal of a stage
And have their passions pour and pump
Like the coursing blood in my veins
Through these speakers, and trickle
Then rush into your brain
And cleanse you of all the superficial bullshit
That Barbie and money have spawned in your head
I want to find the leak in that dam, and let emotion
Rip it to shreds
Then, once that cordon of sensation
Is finally broken
I want to tell you what this is all about
Why I am up here
Why anyone will get up here
And it is a surprisingly simple concept
They are up here
Because they know how they see things
And how they interpret them
They can give you a glimpse into a world you never knew
And some of those among you
Might say, well who cares?
So what of they see things I don�t?
And with that attitude
It won�t matter
But that�s why I got up here
Because in order to make this count,
You have to do something that we have been trained
Since we were young
To forget how to do
And that is listening
Listen to the poets who have no message
The ones that do and everything in between
Listen to the sounds of birds in the morning
And the ones at night
And the one bird lost in the twilight
Straddling the line between
Lunacy and immortality
And those birds, are like the poets
Who get up here and spill their soul
Some people, can�t stand the noise
So they throw sticks and stones
And insults into the nests of their minds
And some
Are so enthralled with the sheer beauty
Of that stand alone composer of the twilight
That they sit ad write poems
Because they don�t understand
How anyone
Could ever weave that tapestry.