performance poetry
Performance Poetry is poetry out loud; poems brought from the page to the stage.
Rhythm
Lyrically gifted, talented misfit, trying to learn quick, how to spit hit shit, split personality, living in duality, far driven my sanity, wishing for tragedy, seeking no empathy, doing this shit for free, I’ve never lived carefully, traveled by thumb you see, leaving these parts of me, in this scattered reality, travelling dimensionally, thinking diagonally, magic like Diagon alley, even flown spiritually, high in the cosmos, hoping to guide those, in seeking some sick flows, leaking these fine hoes, I’m geared up in fine clothes, I’ve rolled with the Juggalo’s, who really knows, how far this goes, when life unfolds, its hidden plot, what've we forgot, we’re life's maggot, evolution knows no bounds, all our sciences found, something to astound, a possible new compound, making a wave so loud, it shatters the ears of the deaf, even surpass the boundary of death, there won't be another breath, in a mechanical breast, no need to digest, our time’ll invest, in global interest, relaxing on Pinterest, or whatever fits best
Seras ShawanaPublished 6 years ago in PoetsSaving Face
Sex is a weapon and my body is a war I try to tell you I don’t want this in as many ways as I know how It’s not enough I search the ground
Julianna SorrensenPublished 6 years ago in PoetsFighting the Butterfly
When someone I know comes up to me and asks…“How are you?” My reply is the reply of a liar, because the lies are easier to maintain than the truth at this point, because the truth would hurt you too much.
Cherie TicePublished 6 years ago in PoetsZodiac's Lie
All of the other kids get picked up first, but I wait. I always wait. Cars are so damn hard to drive. Icy roads make for
Natasha LalondePublished 6 years ago in PoetsThe Maze of Me
ripples stones thrown in an ocean searching for the wander that has been me twisting butterfly can it go back inside
Life, by Night
Every glittering window holds a life, Souls clawing, clutching, wrong from right. A unique story, placed in a home, And with that, we’re never truly alone.
Paige HaydenPublished 6 years ago in PoetsChronicles of Psalms
I begin my chronicles, I know I was meant to do this and I said, "What do I write?" It came to me to write my truth; To release my skeletons out the closet, Expose myself to the greedy media of life. I wanted to take of the layers of stone that created my statue of being "politically correct"
Psalms IzmePublished 6 years ago in PoetsThe Epitome of a Great Fucking Guy
The epitome of a great fucking guy Is the man twice your age who passes by While you're walking home from a late night bar
Paige HaydenPublished 6 years ago in PoetsHim
Love has a way of demanding to be seen. They say a person needs an average of thirteen touches per day to feel loved. That's why I assumed you loved me. Every facial caress, every stroke of the arm. People say actions speak louder than words, and you never were one for talking. They say you can't love anyone unless you love yourself first. I have never loved myself. But I loved you so much I forgot what hating myself felt like. When you told me I was the reason you bled from your wrists every night, I felt the numbness seep in like a suffocating fog. Blades haven't kissed my inner wrists because I'm too much of a coward. I don't know how to show you that I'm in pain, too. I was a fragile china doll when we first met, and now you use the pieces of my broken china doll heart as a pedestal for your own self-worth. You call me a liar, but you used your court jester smile as a façade for the angry person you truly are. Your harsh words opened a floodgate of doubts that lassoed and reeled me in. I don't trust anyone, believing that kind words are a skin that evil intentions bear. And when I see you with her I don't wish to be with the man that I see giving her daily thirteen touches, but with the man that whispered promises of happily ever after’s. My friends tell me to move on, but seeing you in every face, hearing you in every laugh, makes that nearly impossible. It's hard to believe that one stupid boy opened a Pandora's box filled with the inner demons I thought I had rid of years ago. It's hard to believe that…that… I can't say it. I can't admit to myself that I have it. A disease of the mind, an ailment of the heart. I don't want it. Take it back! I want to be myself again, not this bruised shell with a hallowed smile. Not this weak pile of flesh and bones. I know I have friends, but I've never felt so incredibly lonely. I know people love me, but I've never felt so alone. No, I'm fine really. Just tired. Physically drained. Emotionally exhausted. One minute I think I'm fine and then I see you and it seems like everything disappears and I can't help it I still love you and I want to be with you even though you haunt my nightmares when I can finally fall asleep—and then you disappear, and the world finally comes back into focus. I'm happy. I'm strong. I'm—DEPRESSION. There I said it. Now it's not just about you but about everything. It's not just you I see at my worst moments, but all my failures taking on the form of elongated shadows and faceless monsters, spiderwebbing across my thoughts like a cracked windshield. I don't want to come to school, but if I don't I'll let them down. I don't want responsibility, but I should feel honored that you'd consider me for that undertaking. I want… I want… My life back. I want to be able to pick myself back up again. I want to go back to the beginning of this summer, when I didn’t have to pretend to be okay. I want to be left alone. I'm angry and ashamed. I'm going through the five stages of grief. A part of me died that evening, and you don't seem to notice. My personality attracts toxic guys like a warm, welcoming light attracts moths. I'm grabbing for anything; anyone. But nothing's there. I feel like I'm drowning. I want my old self back, but she's buried so far underground that I don't know if she'll find her way out again. I may recover, but I'll never be the same. I may forgive, but seeing you will always cause my right hand to quake. I may move on, but I'll never forget. I'm sorry if this speech offends you, but if you can write songs about the girl that messed you up, then I can write a poem about the boy that killed my spirit.
Kira NicholePublished 6 years ago in PoetsRough
Some days are rougher than most In these times I hold you close Because these times are set to test The strength of our love
Anzel jamesPublished 6 years ago in PoetsArrows Sever My Voice
Smoke filled rooms leave you in a smoke screen of illusion Broken dreams unravel all the things I’m not supposed to know Illusions of love transpire behind the scenes
Angel Travel Near and Far
Trust is something I’ve given you Love is beautiful when I follow you I wait in the wings of an angel In the light I’ll shine brighter in the end