Slam poetry: that magical mix of rhythm and rhyme.
Always a Bullet
Somewhere, a boy stands, a gun in his hand, a thought in his head. Somewhere, the same boy stands, holding a gun in his hand, holding a box of bullets in the other.
I am patiently waiting to be worshipped Paste me into your dithyrambs or iambs do whatever you like mold me a mask or a robe
Rubricate, rubricate, Rubricate the thresholds Lubricate, detonate Their iron pyrite, counterfeit gold. Flash the edutainment,
Will You Make It out Alive?
Food is the enemy Staying busy is the remedy Stop for too long and you'll start to feel Hunger will fade after a little while of going without
Damn Mother... I know best All that I do is for the greater good Matters not if you see it now, I've donned my hood and I'm
Oh I'm extra? I guess that's the zeal, that flows from every syllable, that tumbles out of my mouth, like a landslide,
It's me It's you It's the whole world too Causing this thing but ain't gotta clue It's society It's the social media Creating this damn insomnia
Blessed by the Devil
To whom do these words whirling round my mind stream from. A trickle of tip tongued sentences yet my vocals are tied, hands suffocating around tighten, and heartbeat panting. Do I speak the whispers that I hear and play part on societies stage, or do I seek solace in my own mind's eye. Silence can always be broken yet my silence is my choice, like my choice to live, my choice to create, my choice to believe, my choice to be different, my choice to not back down, but my choice not to give in and finally my choice to speak only words I want to say!
What do you do when the fire you started burns you? What do you when the pain you planted starts growing in you too? What do you do when you finally realize that you messed up? Do you call it karma? I do. Karma follows you like your shadows, You might not see it coming but it will definitely hit you, harder than you could ever expect. You won’t recover from it all your life. You’ll find yourself awake at 3 am recalling faded memories, It’s blurry and you can’t fully remember it, but it’ll keep you awake.
Here stands a man. “What’s your plan?” “To buy a house” ..be the mouse “Drink dry grouse” ..be that louse, stuck on its back
I don't know where to start I mean Where do I begin They made me feel like I was sin Because of my skin Trapped in twisted scripture
Focusing on Text
I'm focusing on text A chance to flex My Complex Intellectual Textual Muscle Delivered through vocals My weapon of choice