Slam? Maybe.

Listening to slam poetry, def poetry on youtube. Can I ever feel that much on a stage in front of people for less than five minutes? Can I spew my guts with intonation and force and say fuck you without saying fuck you, (but saying fuck you when you should say fuck you) and say what I want and say it and be taken seriously?

I've always been impressed by slam poetry and people's ability to say things honestly, powerfully, and speaking almost seamlessly without taking many breaths.

There's an event coming up, and I'm debating whether or not to write and perform something. Every time I see one of these performances online, I get shivers.

I think back to that Miranda July video. The video about her art called the hallway. I don't want my life to just be that plastic cup and the dirty drawing. I want there to be joy when I look up at the ceiling. My poster of twenty something Bob Dylan in my room is telling me to do it, and so is my Andy Warhol soupcan print. So is that black and white picture of Patti Smith that's printed on white copy paper and framed because its Patti Smith, and because my favourite teacher gave it to me.

I steer this ship, not the pieces of paper I tape up on the walls of my bedroom. I turn the lights on and off on my photographs from San Francisco, the poster of the girl with flowers in her hair, and my Edgar Degas ballerinas.

Not a single word I have written and I'm already nervous. I'll have to make up my mind soon. I said I would promise to stop doubting my own abilities, but this is harder than you would understand.