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Showing posts with label Passion and Power. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Passion and Power. Show all posts

Untitled (Darby E.)

The following slam poem was submitted by a poet who goes by the name Darby E , hailing from Texas. This poem is provided as a written poetry piece. Leave a comment to move this slam poem up in the rankings. Participate in this community of slam poets by, submitting, commenting, and following

Untitled
Ghosts have no need for candles
   cannot dictate how their birthdays are celebrated
   if they are remembered at all.
It is we the left behind,
   that make all of the rules,
   poke at the pain and choose what we want to store in our heads.
We.
Choose.



Feelings (Austin J.)

This slam poem was submitted by a poet named Austin J., hailing from Germany. This poem is provided as a written poetry piece, profoundly personal, deeply painful. Leave a comment to move this slam poem up in the rankings. Our poetry comment system is intended to facilitate feedback for our artists, and to promote creative communication. Make sure to leave a comment.

 --Slam Poems Editor

Unloved
Today was a bad day.
I cried again.
Not that anyone would care.
I argued with them again, about something that's important to me.
Like always they don't understand and they don't care, or they just don't want to care.
It hurts.

Stand (S.M.B)

Stand unabashed to face the world
That starved you 
Refuse to starve
That segregated you
Refuse to be separate 
Stand as one unbroken by the world
That judged you
Refuse to live in a box
By standards of others
Live and breathe and know life
Stand as One in the world so that it knows
Your color is its color
Your voice is its voice
Your hearts beat is its heart beat
your life is its life mad or sane  
Stand

Perfect Strings (A Star)

I can't sleep
My head is pounding
I can't stop thinking
Everything's going wrong
God bless me so this headache will go away and I can sleep
It's no use
Tear slicked eyes
My mind reminds me of everything going wrong
I can't stop thinking
Running through scenarios
And memories
And none of them happy

To the Forgotten (Rachel Travers)

To all the little girls that dream of soulmates and dinner dates
Not boys looking at women like shark bait

To all the little scenarios that go on inside your head
Even though you know damn well they won’t happen

I Am BlakaFemale (BlakaFemale)

The following slam poem was submitted by a poet who goes by the name "BlakaFemale." This poem is provided as a written poetry piece addressing the historical atrocities endured by the black community, as well as the incredible resilience of black women.  Leave a comment to move this poem up in the rankings. Our poetry comment system is intended to facilitate feedback for our artists, and to promote creative communication. Don't just read poetry -- take the leap by, submitting, commenting, and following.  

--Slam Poems Editor



I Am BlakaFemale
You kidnapped and stole me from my natural birthplace a land of plenty that provided so much for the many and the same as BlakaMale I too was branded, stamped, and shipped for sale to experience a different type of the same American made hell, I Am BlakaFemale.

No longer able to see or hear my elders named, Amina of Nigeria, Candace of Ethiopia, Makeda of Sheba, Nefertiti of Kement , and Yaa Asantewa of Ghana. These powerful Black African Queens taught Maya Angelou the reasons Why The Caged Bird Sings.

You Know Who You Are (Lorelai)

You know who you are
You know that you’re the one And I don’t mean the one in which I love I mean the 13 year old boy who took everything from me

To Be A Writer (Jenn Smith)

I want to be a writer more than I want love, which is probably part of the issue I want to be a writer more than I want love, because unrequited is so much more dramatic than requited Because heartbreaking poems aren't as boring as hopeful ones, because I'd rather be sad than be dull

I Am BlakaMale (BlakaMale)

As I was stolen from my birthplace never to see my elders face again not knowing eventually I would be for sale in a land destined to catch hell, I am BlakaMale.
You beat my body and leave scars of shame gave me your name as I endured the pain as my mind reminded unchained as I play your game seeking freedom I would find through reading those books regardless how long it took. That taught me I am one of a kind and my mind is not for sale, I am BlakaMale.

I'm Done (By Anonymous)

I'm done. I'm tired of being everyone's second choice. I'm tired of being the one that asks to do something with someone. Whether that be homework or just chilling or just catching up, im done. I'm tired of being the one who always has that pit in my stomach where I feel like I'm just gonna be bothersome to this person who I'm yet again texting to ask if they want to do homework with me. I'm tired of having the anxiety and the feeling that I'm pushing people even further away because I just want someone to do something with. I'm sick and tired of being everyone's advice giver or favor doer and then feeling guilty asking the same of those people in return. 

I'm tired of being the girl that guys just see as a piece of ass. She's pretty I wonder if I can get in her pants. I'm tired of guys getting to know me and learning that I'm not "easy" and then throwing me aside like slop. I'm really really tired of the feeling I get after being thrown aside like slop, feeling like I'm a prude for not putting out. I'm tired of feeling unwanted other than as a means of helping someone achieve an erection.

I'm tired of hating my body. I can't even look at myself naked in the mirror. I can barely stand to be without clothes on for more than three minutes or else I'll start grabbing at areas of my body and analyzing every inch. Finding every little imperfection I can possibly find. Don't even ask me about food. I'm tired of that too. Not food, my relationship with it. What are carbs?

I'm tired of feeling all of these things. Part of me wants to shut everything out and seclude myself for a while, but wait what if that one person texts me back about studying tonight? They won't

Red roses (By Cynthia)

The blood soaked sweater sleeves screamed "help" as the darkness of the night covered my thoughts and mind slowly seeping into my consciousness.

 1,2,3 I took a deep breath as the blade sinked deeper into my skin forming an external manifestation of the internal pain I felt inside.

 It became harder to breathe as my consciousness slowly drifted away leaving the bathroom tiles covered in red reminding me of roses as I took my final breath.

 The world became silent just for a moment. A few scribbled notes and a lifeless corps were the only things standing.

 An awful death lacking depth, and daddy's little girl who never seemed to learn just why she was this way.

No matter what the author of my life continues to type. You see Death is a fact of life.

And the wheel keeps spinning on and on not allowing me to say I was wrong!

 We move on

One More (Sawyer Love)

“One more.”
“No.”
“Take it.”
“No, I’ll throw up.”
“No you won’t.”
“I always do with this stuff.”

When Are You Coming Home, Dad? (Levi)

Hey dad I was wondering what your last thoughts were? What were your final thoughts as you lived up your final day on that artificial respirator in the ICU of that shitty hospital that we would joke about as we drove by it? What was your final thought about us? Did you wonder if I would graduate on time? Did you wonder what we would do with your belongings? Did you wonder what it would be like for us to cope with this emotional turmoil you put us through?

UNTITLED (Heather Tinted)

We were addicted to each other,
I was your Honey Suckle,
You were my Bee,
You loved how my nectar dripped off of my petals.
You loved it so much that you picked me.
Snatching me from my roots,
Not understanding that I was trying to morph into your Butterfly,
Impossible. Impulsive thinking,
You didn't know what to do when you saw me dying,
So you showered me with your love.

You Didn't Explain the Rules (Bec)

Wait.
I write your name a thousand times above a vast net of memories.
None of this makes sense.
Breathe in. Silence.
I scream your name in the ocean.
It’s stuck in the back of my throat. 


To The One Before Me (B. Anthony) - Slam Poetry

Deep within our first conversations,
We talked for hours about everything,
Starting with her favorite color, which is and was baby blue,
I laughed because coincidentally it was mine too.
Soon, the hour began to grow late
As we delved into all the things we had recently been through
That’s when she told me that she had never loved before you.

I Am A Visionary (Lord Big) - Slam Poetry

I am a visionary
As I Sit in this four-corner room staring at candles I contemplate
I tell myself over and over “you must control your emotions”

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