slam poetry
Slam poetry: that magical mix of rhythm and rhyme.
The Shadows Beneath Us
To unknowing eyes, the world up close may seem as if it were painted with the hues of vibrance and life, so full of constant joy and maybe the occasional trouble... But under the blanket that hides the naïve world, there is a vast sky only painted with the hues of agony and evil; No matter how we may despairingly try to paint over it, the disturbing shadows that color the real world will always be there; lurking, like a growing, sweeping void. Why is it that light may come and go, but when you see the full picture, the darkness lurks, never ceasing?
Space Jam
I want to bring her a bottle of special stuff like bugs gave the Toon Squad, so when she takes a sip and the heaviness lifts off her shoulders,
Xandra YantziPublished 6 years ago in PoetsBlue
Have you ever held someone till your tears ran dry, while their tears decide to stay inside, and felt useless? Called someone on their phone when their words won't form,
Xandra YantziPublished 6 years ago in PoetsRetribution
I feel like I'm running out of time Do you feel that Have you ever felt that Like time was an option on a menu Like there was plenty of time for time
Joseph CarrilloPublished 6 years ago in PoetsMind Ticks
I wish to be finally over this soul bronchitis But it's funny because as much as I hate it it also ignites this: Drive in myself to be a better driver of the mind I can't contain
Kalischa MokhribyPublished 6 years ago in PoetsScared
I'm scared Scared I will end up falling for a guy Who treats me like dirt from the landfill at the edge of town The ones who crumple you up
Hailey MattsonPublished 6 years ago in PoetsPlease Body
I hate you I hate the way you look But not as much as the way you behave You taunt me in the mirror Tell me I’m ugly Standing in front of me
Growth
I stripped myself... Of damaged hair Toxic people Weaves Make up Even sex Just so I could be raw Be real in every follicle of my making
Elayne BrownPublished 6 years ago in PoetsBaiting the Heart
There are many things he yearns to say, His gentle organ forever fumbling and beating fast; Why does it seem his words get shoved away?
Mario CastelliPublished 6 years ago in PoetsIt's Not Your Fault
Here's something you may understand I was dealt a shitty hand I've been raped And there was no duct tape Just the weight of someone who is much more
When Does a Therapist Call the Police
I have had this dream since early childhood, at least since before puberty and the onslaught of maturity or manhood. I was in a hayloft of a dilapidated, run-down barn
Dr. Betsy WeinstockPublished 6 years ago in PoetsLatina
For young, wealthy, white men college is an option. Deemed a casual (yet educational) vacation they can just show up to because the library,
Mari OrtegaPublished 6 years ago in Poets