Mo penic

On your way, you try to be calm
you know you won't, 'come to any harm'
but still, the nerves start to take control,
jabbing and poking and causing a hole
in your CONFIDENCE.

You'll forget the words, fluff your chords,
you shouldn't have warn jeans, you should've
warn cords, the list'll be full, the place'll be packed,
against you the odds'll be stacked,
it doesn't make SENSE.

Closer now and the panic sets in, your poetry stinks or you can't
really sing.
The music you play has been done better before.
Why did you bother to walk out of the door?
The fear is INTENSE.

Your name's on the list there's no backing out, your face is stuck
in a permanent pout.
You want your name to be called then you don't.
You should have a soft drink but you know that you won't.
Your tongue is IMMENSE.

Surprisingly, the host calls your name. It's time to enter the game.
What you did at home just do it the same.
This is it, a little piece of fame. Just do it once then never again.
If only you could...control your brain.
Your pounding heart can't take the strain.
By hecklers, you're gonna be slain.
No more time for PRETENCE.

You start, falter, then hit your stride, suddenly
you're enjoying the ride,
through the first bit without mucking up
no longer feeling like chucking up
Applause starts to COMMENCE.

A smile appears beneath your nose
.There's a little bounce in your toes.
A warm feeling comes, one that you like.
You've done a new open mic and all that worry,
it didn't  MAKE SENSE.