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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.

The Rocks (Row MC)

Back on the rocks— The only sound symphonic waves, Not a soul in view but the two Still move like they’re on a stage. Track of time is last in line As the passion climbs.

Poisonous Butterflies (Johnny Levy)

Just put the marks
On the page.

This is what
I tell myself


When my canvas
Is too big for me.

When the paper's
Whiteness blinds me,

And I've failed
Before I've started.

Editor's Note: New Contest - "Why We Write"

New Contest

It's Word Wednesday!

Last week's contest is still running. 

Here's your assignment, 
If you choose to accept it: 

Write a poem 
About why you write poetry.

Music to Write To: Anatu (Bleach)

I am not only looking for great slam poetry, but also great music that stirs creativity. This instrumental track provides such a powerful backdrop for imagination. Try throwing down to this one and let me know how it moves you. As always, we are here to serve your creative process and to inspire great art! --Slam Poems Editor 

[VIDEO]


  


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

One Girl (Indy Schalk)

One girl Who’s seen through two lenses Trying to hem them together as they deny one another I look past Through the viewfinder Remind me, which one am I?

Touch (Johnny Levy)

This guy mashed my face in with his elbow
When we were playing basketball.
Old cornfed, elbow-swinging suckah. 


I had to get four stitches

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.

Old School (By Mario Vitale)

Remember the old boom box boogey down to the socks
Reggie Jackson chewy bars & Tommy's pop rocks
Parachutte pants with the hair high fade
Wake up late in a purple haze saying it's going to be one of those days
Back it up even further playing cowboys and indians in the sand box
Waiting at the corner for the ice cream man to come with his stuff
Boy, hero's fade from the scene such an evil scheme
Wouldn't care in what I said or did throwing an M80 under a garbage lid
Back when it was fashionable to be late for your date
Baking grandmas cookies in the oven for sure
Sipping on your favorite beverage while the pops watch Dinah Shore 
Those good old days that have gone before yet soon will discover
The over weight lover from another mother type of brother
Fast cars and the midnight scene with the freaks coming out
Flip flops with your stretch blue jeans such a party scene
In quaint encounters with the local police running in the street
Falling mailboxes girls wearing their Sunday best putting their lovers in a test
A time well spent in thought while going to the fair with music everywhere
Back in school those days listening to teachers stopping later at the mall
The movies back then made you feel ten feet tall with Stallone time to roam
Party's at your neighbors having forts put up in the back
Mommy & Daddy working to hard enough to give them a heart attack
Learn to relax with my rubix cube later playing hacky sack
A soft kiss from a lover under cover as she spins the bottle
I will never forget those tender moments in the sun thank you I got to run. 

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

Can You Hear Me Momma? (Tiffany Caday)

Can you hear me momma?
It happened again, it never stops.
You were so fragile, so over it.
The screaming, the sounds of his fist as it connects to your face.
Silence.

Father's Touch (Johnny Levy, Slam Poems Editor)

I was an asthmatic kid
And when I got sick
It was like breathing through
A wet afro in my windpipe.
The panic, the agony,
My own lungs
Strangling me.
Will the next breath
Happen? Can't think like that.
Just keep breathing,
Like heaving thousand pound rocks
With my chest.

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?

Attention (Felicity)

in the cupboard, they sit, they settle
i slide them in, among the coffee cups
the cheap china rattles, they kick their legs
you watch me with beady eyes

Beloved Stranger (Johnny Levy, Slam Poems Editor)

Why are we here?
To drink the sea?
To swallow the sun whole?


God is light, and rain.
Our hearts are stone.
Waiting in the dark.
Longing to know.
What we only know
With big chunks
Missing.  

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