slam poetry
Slam poetry: that magical mix of rhythm and rhyme.
Self-Revive
Used to think the realest was on the team. Now, I see that was all a dream. We used to talk 'bout how we gone get creame and get to the money scene, scheming, laughing, smoking pungent, but Niggaz left me in the darkest pit of the dungeon, like all those memories wasn't nothing, but fuck 'em. Those times opposite of summit, I'm head high, no time for dumbness, frauds, broads, I'm racing trumpets, seals break, releasing abundant, arms of death. That's on a 💯💯💯
Omni ProphetPublished 7 years ago in PoetsPopulation Buzz
The sun has set upon my nation, The sun has set. But still I cannot catch my breath. I cannot catch my breath. Too little space for air to come.
22nd May
She stands in the doorway, leant against the door frameLeft shoulder against the wood.One of her legs crossed over the otherArms crossed across her chest"So I assume you'll have children one day"
Megan TaylorPublished 7 years ago in PoetsNot Another Teenage Movie
Not Another 80s Teenage Movie I am Independent, Down-to-earth, “Smart” Girl hopelessly in love With Jock Who Possesses a Brain.
Idalis WoodPublished 7 years ago in PoetsLiar
Despicable. That’s what goes through my head when your name is mentioned. Your name is bitter poison in my mouth. I bet you sleep real cozy at night. Not a worry, not giving a fuck about what you did.
Jenny IbañezPublished 7 years ago in PoetsSocial Anxiety
Social anxiety is like a thief, stealing away my identity until I am no longer a person, just a shell where the anxiety hides, whispering my fears like a tainted lullaby. It's words are sweet poison dripping from an IV and flowing through my veins at an unstoppable speed. It's there on my dark days, on my bright days. It is the friend that has overstayed their welcome who you cannot seem to budge, the weight on my chest I can't seem to dislodge. It claws it's way up my throat and out my mouth as I sob into the pillow wondering for the thousandth time why I seem so different from everyone else. It is the monster in my closet, the one that no matter how many locks I put on the door it still seeps through, like a hazy mist across my vision turning my every day tasks into twisted versions of reality. It is the obstacle I must climb over, sapping my energy like hungry plant roots suck the moisture from the soil until my body is nothing but a desert of emotions, waiting for the rain that will never come. It is like a roller coaster that I did not wish to board, only it never crests that peak, only climbing higher so I get the tiniest glimmer of hope just to slip back down that same hill and begin again. It is a dark room with no doors and no escape and I am it's prisoner. I am no longer identified as a person but as the disorder that consumes me. Hello. My name is Social Anxiety.
Autumn BestPublished 7 years ago in PoetsDeath of a Friend
Lost hope. When you stop seeing beyond the faults, when the salt burns the reopened wounds. When the lies and darkness resurface, there's this question you ask yourself...
Danni GibsonPublished 7 years ago in PoetsDenial
My love is your burden. You leave me hurting quite often, but I deny it. My heart is yours to break. I am your mistake, it seems;
Amanda KareninaPublished 7 years ago in PoetsLos Angeles' Hoods Burn
Our youth are up in flames as Huizar takes a break after being a fake and settling his sexual harassment case to a cost to tax payers pockets.
Jonathan Dekanwida Thunderbird-OlivaresPublished 7 years ago in PoetsFreestyle
Old girl got it twisted and living in the dark spitting that dumb shit thinks I'm scared of her bark. Little does she know I don't play games, she lost her girl and has only herself to blame.
Angela HughesPublished 7 years ago in PoetsThe Superhighway
Life is an information superhighway, varying in speed. It buffers when the connection to its source slows. Life is exhilarating at 135 Mb/s.
Kourtney RisherPublished 7 years ago in PoetsLucid Living
Self-medicating, I hear what they saying Downing handles, lighting candles is what they seeing That's how he be praying is what they saying
Laurin TorresPublished 7 years ago in Poets