As I walked down the street in the night, clasping hands with the woman I love, I spot something out of the corner of my eye. In the bar I walk past almost every day, there was a woman on the stage, couldn’t of been older than twenty years old, with a crowd around her. I can’t here music, there are no flashing lights, yet everybody is watching her. ‘What is she saying to these people to make them listen so intently?’ I think to myself.
Curiosity captivates me, leading me through the front door. Whatever she’s doing, she’s in-between acts – whatever the act is – so me and my partner grab a drink and take a seat. Every one around us are talking loudly, clumped together in tight-nit groups, laughing and joking with one another… Then she starts to speak… the room goes quiet. The kind of silence that feels electric; like everybody is waiting for something amazing to happen. And amazing it was. “This poem is about everybody’s worst enemy, anxiety” she says, rather timidly.
The way she said it – ‘Everybody’s worst enemy’ – hit me hard. It takes someone to say it aloud in front of a crowd for you to really appreciate the sheer mass of people struggling with their own anxiety issues. In a matter of a duration of her poem, the shy girl on stage put on a dramatic performance, connecting to the crowd on a personal level. Everybody was silent, she was portraying such passion and pouring her heart out within her rhyming words and tales of love, lust and heartbreak. She told everyone how relationships can trigger anxiety, how your family and friends can, how society can. She showed the real cause of anxiety is unknown, and will remain unknown, as it will always be different for everyone.
She changed on that stage. No longer was she a girl of mystery, she was proud and loud and ready to tell her story the whole world. She used her passion to tell her story in the most beautiful of ways. I looked around as she spoke, all eyes were on her. The laughs and jokes had whispered into non existence, the way people stared just cried out that they either felt the same or know someone who does. There was sympathy, sorrow and heartbreak flowing around the room in a matter of minutes.
She stopped talking. Her poem started with a whisper and ended in a roar, everybody got her message, everybody was hurt by her message. The sheer reality of her truth was settling in; for a few seconds… silence. Then everybody applauded, letting her know shes an aspiration. The quiet girl. The girl who suffers in silence, shouting her message to the world in her own way. That girl was called Lemon – a beautiful name belonging to a beautiful woman and a beautiful message.
If Lemon can face her fears, using her passion to speak freely, and be greeted with nothing but love. Why should it be different for anyone else? It isn’t. Find your love, find your distraction, use it in a way that your voice never lets you.