Poets' Den

Tonight, my brother and I will brave the open mic and open our souls to a crowd of strangers. In the "den" nestled between artist galleries and pubs, I will recite what has been secretly coveted away in my half-filled mole-skin. I'm excited despite the initial feelings of nerves. For you I will recite through type:
" Were I to ride upon a train
Heavy-backed black smoke
A photograph rubbed beneath
my thumb
Paper cut, colors the olden days
red.
Will it go fast enough?
Ticket please, pleasure ride,
love of mine.
Blurred like a dream, a mixed 
tape to fit the scene.
Up the isle-dirty carpet, clean
shoes.
Forget-me-nots from us to
you.
We crush these thinner
tracks. 
Long-winded arched backs.
Belated love letter come too
soon.
High sun in the drunken 
afternoon.
A pick-me-up, will you
pick me up?
Lost in the bustling sea of men-you spend
the wrong time waiting for me.
Back to the house, what a violent way to come-
Hurdling towards you-
Heavy-backed black smoke
I've turned you into letters
now.
Coming to you as a blistering 
joke."
**UPDATE I've found my place. This "den" inspired me in its atmosphere, the people, and the vegan BLT that I dissected and devoured. I didn't get to read, as there were 16 eager performers in front of me, but just watching, playing chess, and kickin' back with my brother was more than enough. A kind gentleman named Anthony tried to give up his slot for me so he could "hear the written word" and this flattered me and made me smile, though I gently insisted he go on ahead. We ended up exchanging names and shaking hands which made me realize there is a place outside my high school bubble where people genuinely enjoy being friendly and aren't concerned with judgements. I love it. Hello life, it's been too long.