Performance Poetry is poetry out loud; poems brought from the page to the stage.
For the streets have claimed me as one of its own. To get out is the goal. For these stinky and sticky clothes that cover my dirty skin is not for me. I will try everything in my power to not fall victim of it. To not become one more story is the thing I want. Poem after story, we hear and say so much about it. Have you lived it? The storm of thoughts that take over your being. For some, is just so much easier to beg and plead for money that you'll never know where it'll go. Food? Medicine? Habits? I'll never understand why and how someone can reach this level. But, no one will understand my reasons of being like this either. Hypocrite, I know. Hypocrisy is keeping these thoughts flowing and the mind going. This is what I like to call: "my own habits". My version of "Being in control". Pathetic, I know. This idea of working hard is just a blur to me. I desire to be in doors with a fan or AC full blast all over the house and have some kind of calm and peace for one day. I don't want to think about: "Where do I go next?" or should I say WE? Yes, We.
By Moon2 years ago in Poets
Laid bare my wounded heart unto you You kissed it with cat-o-nine-tails Blooded furrows cross my soul Still I begged for more ... worse
By Andrew C McDonald2 years ago in Poets
With chains of soft velvet you snared me Willingly, in your trap I stepped My mind; body and soul - caged In silken, smooth, bare trap
Memories swarm like irritated wasps, Papery winged cacophonies, Opening torturous wounds, But they die with each sting, The pain fades away,
By Kenny Penn2 years ago in Poets
The lone furrow digs deep, a path of pride, But a field shared prospers, side by side. The single flame flickers, a fleeting spark,
By Marcelinus Apakhade2 years ago in Poets
Soil beneath my fingernails represents the flesh of the planet, mimicking the appearance of a hungry child devouring the flesh of a fresh pomegranate.
By Kale Sinclair2 years ago in Poets
I wince at the pain of remembrance For the pride is here still after the fall I try my best to instill temperance Yet each passing day leads the call
By J. K. Anderson2 years ago in Poets
In buildings grand, where pipes run deep, A silent threat, a slumbering creep. Water leaks, unseen, unheard, Can cause a flood, a costly word.
By Matt Sharon2 years ago in Poets
here we go, again‐ tuning in turning out speeding up crashing out burning up burning down looking up falling down facing forward
By JM2 years ago in Poets
Once you were gentle, said you loved me, said I am the kindest person, that you will always be there. Suddenly you became,
By Jess S2 years ago in Poets
I lurk within tall grass while my hands clasp to sharp glass. I ensure I endure pain as I outlast as an outcast. If my skin is equivalent to tree bark
we got into an argument today. you didn’t like the way I was speaking to you, I didn’t like that you failed to understand me for the hundredth time.
By Faye Lock2 years ago in Poets
