An Experiment in Spoken Word

Poetry is something I've informally toyed around with for much of my life, and today I ventured in a new direction. I didn't necessarily intend this to be a spoken word poem, but due to the way the words mulled around in my head while on the train today, I thought I'd try reading it in a quasi-spoken word format (though I had to lock myself in the bathroom and turn the bathtub faucet on for fear of being heard). It was quite a spiritual experience, actually. I felt the words driving from my core, not just my mind. I'd like to share the written version with you all.

"Known" 

Oh God,

You are a God of knowledge.

Like the knowledge of libraries like the one I sit in now, yes, but also

Like the knowledge that cannot be described oh Lord.

You have searched me and known me,

You know when I lie down and when I rise up,

You know every hair on my head.

Which means you must know when I am tired not like sleepy but weary and run down from feeling like a stranger in my skin and inadequate in helping change this broken world.

You know when I am bent over with grief and with pain and you know when I am so full of joy that my heart dances as if on fire.

You know the commuters I pass on the train station, schedules and meetings and expectations tucked beneath their suits and skirts; the men and women and children huddled beneath city benches searching for an ounce of warmth to escape the bitter cold of night;

The immigrant family of seven facing the choice of food or prescriptions, oh God you know.

And you take these souls and these beings into the fullness of your being.

So God,

God of knowledge,

May it be so.

May it be so that I rise up from my skin that often feels of hesitancy,

And embrace the fullness that you give to me,

To all,

Without price.