slam poetry
Slam poetry: that magical mix of rhythm and rhyme.
Everything You Are
What is your name? So simple. A question, Asked again and again. I always know the answer. Simple Im me. But my name is not my identity.
Jordan McCoyPublished 2 years ago in PoetsGood f*ck
I wanted to have a good time I wanted to make you mine Not thinking being a part of my life You came right on time It felt fine
Gladys W. MuturiPublished 2 years ago in PoetsB.A.M
Man I'm From A Small Town Where They Don't Show Love Their Favorite Pass Time Be Talking Shit Pathetic Really Doubting EveryOne Chasing They Dreams
MurderVerse
"You Too Can Be a Writer" A book filled with beautiful nuggets of wisdom Like "Be prepared with all the tools needed" Gun
David ParhamPublished 2 years ago in PoetsIn 5 Years
For its a toll to shame oneself for what others have done Its in a since to overcome that block in shape Instead of standing behind the tape
Blake RobertPublished 2 years ago in PoetsCharity Case
I’m a charity case 1. You’ll possibly feel the need to come over and give... 2. So..? IM IRRESISTIBLE 3. Maybe I guess
Aubrie BellePublished 2 years ago in PoetsLet's get on the same page
Dear Mom I love you. No one in the world can tell you different I know out of all of your children I'm the one you just don't get
Dany Jean-PierrePublished 2 years ago in PoetsHeavy Dirty
The chrome is staring at me. The mirrors stare too. The walls have opened up their shadowed eyes and now they’re glinting and gleaming as they follow this body from place to place. I worry and wait and pace and pace and pace as the walls make synchronized moves, as the walls move stealthily, un-pausing as they test the distance left. The walls are the mirrors and the mirrors are the chromes and I am staring from wall to wall and face to face and I am eating away at my hands, at my nails, and the skin is peeling under the pressure, and my teeth are turning red with blood that oozing from my freshly eaten flesh and the blood is congealing under what’s left of my nails and staining the tops of my gums and sticking between my teeth and tinting my tongue a pinker pink. I am in the mirrors and the chromes. I am in the walls but still I am in between them and they have moved so swiftly, so quickly, so quietly that I had yet to realize how close they are to me. I am in the middle of this mirrored hall, this chrome tin, this body box and the walls are higher than my eyes but they’re pressing in on my thighs and my arms and my hands and I’m smearing blood from my fingertips on the walls and the mirrors and the chrome as I worry and wait and push and pray that these walls will go away but they’re only growing tighter and my muscles are tearing as I strain and strain and strain and wish that I was stronger and smarter and bolder and harder and calmer and happy. My muscles give in and I am flattened between the walls and I realize they’re not walls at all and it’s all in my head and I try to breathe a sigh of relief but I have yet to breathe because my lungs are so empty and my throat has closed and my skin is vibrating like a tuning fork when rapped on the bench and my brain is screaming that I need to stop and my hands hit the floor and the floor is a door and I’m falling face first, I’m falling faster, falling into the abyss that tries to swallow me whole but there’s a rope and my fingers grasp and grip but the blood is making me slip and my fingertips tear down to the bone and I cry out and let go and I’m falling still. This darkness catches me and holds me and makes me feel at home but I know that I’m still alone and climbing out of this hole is too daunting so I just lay here and let them swallow me whole.
Melynda KlocPublished 2 years ago in PoetsSave Her
I Can't Save Her She Won't Let Me Save Her All I Want To Do Is Save Her I Want To Show Her There's More In This World
R[H]ope
My hands are tingling when I wake up. They’re throbbing and aching and twitching and vibrating and tingling and they won’t stop. I’m laying on my back with my arms stretched towards the ceiling and my right eye won’t stop twitching and I’m staring and staring and waiting and hoping and praying that you won’t lay down next to me. My mind is a sunburnt peach, soft and sweet and angry and red and sharp and sore at the touch and your touch is too rough. I purse and unpurse my lips, open and close my mouth, open and close my eyes, expand and contract my lungs, and expand and contract and expand and contract and expand and contract and think about hope and how it might be real but hope is not a white light and hope is not a light and the end of a tunnel and hope is not alive and hope is not dead but hope is a rope and the rope is tied to the distant buildings and the distant shores and it feels more like yarn in my palms as I try to grasp firm grips, as I try to find the guide before I slip. Hope is a rope and the rope is tied to the distant buildings and the distant shores and I place my hands one over the other, right left, right, left, right and I can’t see more than my hands as the grasp and grip and slip and twist on this lead guiding me to the sea.
Melynda KlocPublished 2 years ago in PoetsNight Mares
Roll, steeds— Carry me when I bleed. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Roiling the fury through the night, Blind me
Brent TharpPublished 2 years ago in PoetsDominance
You are very interesting. You have an intelligence and understanding that allows you to communicate with me. Again I may be out of line,
Shane HarringtonPublished 2 years ago in Poets