slam poetry
Slam poetry: that magical mix of rhythm and rhyme.
uninspired
I keep waking up and feeling stuck, behind my eyes of what if I am no longer enough. Not for a person per say, but the actions that define me going about my day. I see myself, I see the list of dreams I have set, yet, I am in my head. Riding the coattails of the biggest theif of enjoyment, yet seeking that same disraction to ignore all of it. I can say I know what I want to do and where I want to be, but you see, I am my biggest enemy. Both locked behind watching a screen, but missing what I need to be learning. Instead, I am avoiding, toying with what I would buy with the money I don't have, being distracted by my time instead of it adding value. The screen, the knowledge, the dedication, the pressure of it being my occupation, should motivate me right? But instead I sit here and I fight with myself, denying, even, lying to myself on what would help. I am destroying my confidence by affirming my actions, of not doing anything at all. No longer extrodinary, not even oridnany, not a doer, but a follower. Someone full of wants with no direction, a complainer lost in disillusion. I am untterly stuck behind the lack of motivation and or determination to be the expectations I thought I could be. I want someone who knows what I am about to believe in me, but in reality, that person needs to be me. But here I am writing and rambling, over the uninspired poem I had to scratch out of my dislocated mind. I dont deserve anyones pity, because this illogic is considered blind. But here I am, uninspired, venting untill maybe I can feel the fire of desire to be better than I was today, but like I said, I am really good at what I say.
By Rilee Arey3 months ago in Poets
The Annual Poetry Award for the Token Poverty Class Poet
I do not care for your quotidian sesquipedalian poetry or prose. Periphrastic pensive gazing from your opulent safety glass windows incites me to vomit my plastic pellet fish and glyphosate potato dish over it. You obfuscate words to sunder your world from mine, erecting the heart’s frozen vault, creating the ironic foundation of your whining melancholy.
By Kayleigh Fraser ✨3 months ago in Poets
The End
Welcome to the end Of the grand experiment Dying in a whimper Thank you for reading my work. If you enjoyed this story, there’s more below. Please hit the like and subscribe button, you can follow me on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram @AtomicHistorian. To help me create more content, leave a tip or become a pledged subscriber. I also make stickers, t-shirts, etc here.
By Atomic Historian3 months ago in Poets