slam poetry

Slam poetry: that magical mix of rhythm and rhyme.

  • Violet P. Davies
    Published about a year ago
    No Cause for Concern

    No Cause for Concern

    Please don't be concerned by all these words
  • Violet P. Davies
    Published about a year ago
    Eggshell Treadmill

    Eggshell Treadmill

    I feel things that shouldn't matter
  • Kay Williams
    Published about a year ago
    Be You

    Be You

    'But are you?' My conscious asked after I screamed at myself telling myself I am a fuck up.
  • Danny Hartley
    Published about a year ago
    Type

    Type

    I'm just gonna type, type till I can't be arsed to type know more, type till I have misspelled every thing because I'm not paying any attention, type till the sun comes up because I can, type because I'm able to type with my hands, type till the world stops spinning round, type all the adventures i can imagine, type all my great memories I have encountered, type till my eyes are sleepy, type because I'm not sleepy, type because my girlfriend is asleep, type because I have nothing better to do, type because I am able to type, type to appreciate I have touch screen, type because I can type fast, type doesn't even sound like type know more, type reminds me of tripe if that's a thing, type rhymes with wipe, type is spelt weird? Type? How does that make sense? Type? Typing? Tapping? Topping? Shopping? Hopping? Stopping? Stomping? Nope… just type…
  • James Vail
    Published about a year ago
    Donald Trump Rap Diss
  • Eden Greager
    Published about a year ago
    It's Hard To...

    It's Hard To...

    It’s hard to explain how I feel when I can’t comprehend my feelings. It’s hard to tell you that I need help when I don’t even know what I need help with. It’s hard for me to reach out and ask for your help when I can’t even speak because my mind is so cloudy. It’s hard to be strong when the voices say I’m weak. It’s hard to fight when I just want to give up. It’s hard to eat when I’m so fat. It’s hard to breath when my line wants to go flat. It’s hard to carry on when the hope is gone and my light goes dark. I need a spark, something to live for, to help me see, something that’s shining, glowing, for me. I just need someone, someone who cares, someone who does more than just say that they’re there. It’s hard to cry when you have no tears. It’s hard to jump when you have so many fears. My mind is cloudy and my thoughts are dark, I just need one little spark. A hope, something to look forwards to. It’s hard to feel when you’re just so numb. It’s hard to think when you’re always called dumb. It’s hard to believe in yourself when no one else does. It’s hard to fight when no one wants you in their life. I have been fighting for so long. I don’t even know what I’m fighting for. Is it me? Is it you? Is it her? Is it him? Who am I fighting for? Everyone has always told me I should just give up. I’m starting to believe them. It’s hard to fight, when you see no light. It’s hard to see, when you are blinded by all the emotions. Sometimes, they slip, slip from my eyes, to the cold, hard floor. Now I know that I can’t fight anymore. I know that it’s all gonna end the same, I’m like a child, who’s playing a game. Someone will come along and tell me it’s okay. Someone will tell me then they’ll go away. When they see the true me, they’ll only run. No one thinks that I’m all that fun. Maybe it’s time for my life to be done. Everyone is tired of me and I don’t know if I can fight. Why can’t I find that little bit of light? If only my life had been taken in that wreck, on that winter's night. People say they care, I bet they don’t. People tell me I’m strong, if I’m so strong, why do I feel so weak? I wish I had the strength to fight. But wait, I see a small light. That’s what keeps me going when things get hard, that's what makes me fight, when I feel so weak. That small, tiny light. It’s not very big, and it’s not very bright. It keeps me thinking that maybe it’s alright. It’s hard to shake the fact that no one wants me around, but maybe, just like Evan, I will be found.
  • Wolfgang Styko
    Published about a year ago
    Modern

    Modern

    No I don’t know the solution,
  • Skylar Cribb
    Published about a year ago
    The Millionth Poem About Rape

    The Millionth Poem About Rape

    You say I'm a baby, that it makes me childish to be afraid to walk to the public restrooms alone
  • Greg Sanchez
    Published about a year ago
    Folkloric Protest Song

    Folkloric Protest Song

    Fresh is the early morning
  • Sara Peterson
    Published about a year ago
    Flu Season

    Flu Season

    You’d think that
  • Charles Oregano
    Published about a year ago
    Extra Credit

    Extra Credit

    Extra credit, and how it serves me, whether I be a dutiful student, or a “flunkee,” it may round off my 4.0 GPA, and as such I will be pleased, or it may give me enough class credit for possibly, a D, I may work my poor fingers to the bone, etching graphite with no other wretched hand than my own, into a sea of loose leafs duly entitled “Fibrous Dysplasia of the Bone,” and how, I, moan, at the thought of my effort being reduced, diminished, ebbed and waned because of the effortless, I write notes and I put it in a socket, a locket under lock and key, forever protected so it can better serve my memory, while others write notes and take none of those precautions, they may summarize the lesson and then throw it in their back pocket, to me a holy scripture, a parchment of mass proportions, left to rot next to someones keester, to slip out onto the street and educate the masses with mediocrity, to be spun around countless times on a never ending cycle called “cold wash,” shocking really, when you realize that in terms of poverty and it’s cycle, with this attitude, they are that very lesson, doomed to be written by it’s maker, unable to change, trapped, a few sentences shy of a passed exam, I have studied for countless hours, given my soul to that godforsaken manhole called an “institution,” and never once have I complained until now, they say knowledge is power, yet I have none, as if I need college just to be someone, I have tried my hardest to get where I am, just to chase people who have gave half my effort, if that, I find myself cowering in my own shadow, and my shadow cowering among others, “You are the sum total of all of your choices,” they say, then why am I anything other than what I’ve always wanted to be, extra credit, and how it serves me, whether I be a dutiful student, or a “flunkee.”
  • Tajah Calderon
    Published about a year ago
    Something We All Crave

    Something We All Crave

    I am not talking about candy