Poems Leaving Home

Are they ready yet, perhaps, maybe?
We brush them, straightening syllables,
Weaving words into suggested rhythms.
They must look their best you know,
When they recite with strange voices,
To audiences far away and unfamiliar.
Will those jaded judges notice them,
Standing quietly, waiting for their turn?
Should they try SHOUTING perhaps
With bolded words or
      broken lines?
But no, these are quiet creatures,
Such silly noises would be unseemly.
Will those distant souls recognize them?
These stories from an unknown drifter,
As worth sharing in silent rooms at night,
With those who seek such odd companions?
Or will they seem too foreign and awkward,
Like a new boy lost in a strange school,
And linger unrecognized in empty hallways,
Till they wander home, walking soft and slow,
Uncertain, with muddy shoes and lowered heads.