Don't be ashamed of your scars.

I can show you scars that only dead people have.

Cover them with tattoos and call them creativity.

Smother the "I have scars" blues

And negativity.

They were your escape wounds to longevity.

My name is Paul David Beard.

I run an event in London SE5 called The Chocolate Poetry Club and THIS is an exceptional space to graze, ponder and enjoy words.

Thanks for being here.

Thanks for being so inspiring.

I'm listening...

This cannot be everything

By words spoken and unsaid.

Blue cannot be measured

By the standards of red.

Plants cannot be replaced

By the bouquet that is dead.

Books cannot be judged

By the one who has not read.

Boats cannot be driven

By eyes blind to threats ahead.

People,

People cannot be used

They’re here to be loved instead.

By Paul David B

A pinprick

Makes me bleed

Stains the world

Below my feet

I'm a balloon

Overfilled

Bursting apart

Scattered till

Remnants remain

On the floor

A shadow

Of what

I was before

A lifetime of memories

Tucked inside a shoebox

More than half empty

Waiting for years

you will never grow to see

A yellow rubber duck still sits on the edge of the bathtub

A plastic dinosaur lay on your bedroom floor

As if you will return at any moment

And with a little imagination

It isn't hard to see

You growing a little bit older

Running down a football field or kicking a soccer ball

But that will never be

For eternally you dream

I support soul. The writer is a messenger between soul and the world. Pacing back and forth arms full of insights, emotions, metaphors, the writer spills the contents of soul onto the page for the world to see. A task full of trepidation and responsibility, the writer fearlessly forges on painting a collage that only this soul knows. The new writer, learning to navigate the path of deliverance may be afraid of what the world may think of their findings. The thought of sharing the tender soul within has detoured many from releasing their colorful inner reality. We need the writer. The translator of soul. Each soul is unique and through the writer we see the universe. Those writers who can do this with grace, creativity, and authenticity is worthy of support. After a long voyage into the depths of soul, applause and gratitude should greet their emergence back into the world.

Sitting in Spokane county jail listening to a meth addict sing the same line, "Bye-bye Miss American Pie!" over and over into the toilet that broadcast like a PA to every cell on the block. Feeling amused, scared as shit and completely disembodied. Wondering how the process of being released works, how one actually communicates with the outside world when you live in a 8 x 8 cement box and piss into a stainless steel hole. Thinking, "I'm hiring the best lawyer I can afford. Do they take credit cards?"

Ten years ago was my revival tent conversion to leave my late-blooming youthful indiscretions behind me and give my life a chance to flourish. I've never been so grateful for felonies.