Archive | Slam Poetry RSS feed for this section

A Confession.

21 Sep

Do you know what it is that you do to me? Do
you know what it feels like to observe you?
Do you know how hard it is to be in the same
room as you? Do you understand what it’s
like for me to want you? To want you to see
me? To want you to want me? To want you
to want me just like you want her?
Even in a room filled with a hundred other people –
at the least
– I can find you.
In the blink of an eye and a snap at the wrist
my eyes enshrine you.
My thoughts are drawn to you
like a smoker to cigarettes.
I am addicted,
and I can never get enough
and I will never get enough
and I won’t ever get enough
because I cannot bring myself
to stop this rush I
get when you’re around.
I do not dare.
It was only several years ago
you entered my world, only to ensnare
me with a simple “hello.”

You who found your way into
my life in a time when
I was so alone,
miles away from the only
place I had ever called
my home.
A green girl lost in summer.
I had no one.
I was completely on my own…
until there was you.
So nice, so funny, so wonderful, so you.
And while you are not
beautiful, or overtly handsome in the
common known way,
and though you do not stand out in a crowd,
I would pick you out
every time,
every day.

Which has come to make me realize that
I do not want a college boy.
Some dumb teen turned adult, looking
for any whatsoever chance
where I will show some sign of weakness
so he can get into my pants.
No. With them I’m through. I no
longer want those insubordinate, intolerable, over indulgent  boys,
only you.
A goddamn man.
We barely know each other,
but I have been in love with you for years.
And you will never know,
and not because of age and not because of her,
but because this is one thing words and explanation
will always fail and falter.
So I stay respectively silent, I remain painfully quiet,
I lose my voice, my tongue, my peace of mind,
and do not speak…
this time.


I wrote this slam poem a year ago and then promptly tucked it away, figuring it was just that fleeting feeling of nostalgia we all suffer from on rare occasion. It took me a year to realize that, for me, this will always be a little more than just a passing phase, which I fear is more tragic than I can ever possibly say out loud. I’ll forever hide this poem in the pocket of my heart, knowing it will never be said to the one who needs to hear it most.


24 Apr

I’ll go.
I’ll go.
I’ll go.
I’ll go.
I’ll go.
I’ll go.
I’ll go, I’ll go, I’ll go, I’ll go, I’ll go,
I will go.
I have to go.
If I don’t then he’s gonna show
up here, at my door, whether I tell him yes or no.
He does not listen, no
matter how much I beg and crow.
He’ll just keep calling me until I come over. There’s no
winning against this schmoe.
He’ll make me feel guilty for trying to forgo
the inevitable. This is ridiculous, so
I will go…

You know
something? I don’t want to go.
I want to go
back to my sick tableau
of sleeping all day, eating soup, trying not to throw
up. That’s all I want, this one plateau,
but he does not care. He always has to be numero
even though
I know
he knows that I am sick. He does not care so
long as he gets what he wants. That’s all that matters to Mr. Apropos.

Him with the parents who treat him like he’s a prince for show.
Him who is adored and praised by every Mary Jane and John Doe
imaginable. Him who can lasso
and outsmart every teacher that we know.
Him with so
many grand ideas that constantly flow
from his mind. Him with a girl so
perfect she could set a stone cold heart aglow.
That clever little bastard who has it all in tow
when I have nothing to live for. I’m no
one’s beau.
I’m no
one’s hero.
I’m no
comparison in my father’s eyes when it comes between me and his dough.
Just me, alone, with my own sad story of woe
that no
one wants to know.
An invisible boy just trying to graduate before summer starts to show.
An invisible boy, invisible to all… Although,

there is one exception to this endearing low.
One clever little bastard, who’s been the only real friend I’ve ever come to know
and no
matter what I undergo
he has yet to outgrow
me. Says this is no
quid pro
Claims he’ll always know
me. Claims I’m his best friend on this entire planet, even though
he could have any best friend that he wants because he is so
loved by all. Instead, he chose me. Why, I’ll never know,
but he did. He who made me not invisible, he who helped me grow,
And for that I owe
him more than he will ever know.
He is my friend. He is my hero.


I will go.

/ / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / /

The second slam poem in my set of Fictional Perspective pieces.

Need a hint whose POV this is from? Well, the first Perspective poem I wrote was from the POV of Kate Austen from LOST, and the poem is entitled “Ostentatious”. This poem is called “Fried”. So. Glean what you’d like.

Start of a new poem

22 Apr

This is what I have for a new slam poem I’m writing. It will, eventually, be the end of the poem (no clue what the beginning of it will entail just yet) and it does need to be revamped a bit. Anyway, enjoy what I have thus far!


When it comes to the choice between living and staying still,
Always choose the prior.
Skip classes on occasion.
Stay up late laughing with the ones you love.
Dazzle the sky.
Enchant the night.
Get lost in a sea of possibility.
Beshrew the Heaven’s with your omnipresent will.
Your ever growing lust for life that cannot stay you still,
You are young,
And you are free,
But this will not last,
So let me impress on you to take each opportunity.
Run before the creaks and groans of aging claim your mortal body
And dance while you still remember how to dance to just the simplest tune,
And hug
And joke
And thought provoke
And fall in love in June.
Kiss who you want for.
Befriend who you need for.
Do what makes your wild heart swoon,
And do not let them break you
Because they will try to shake you
And make you play their trepidatious game.
Just say “no”
And fly through fields of fancy where they will never find you.
Forever flying
Forever highing,
Forever trying to define this life that we will never understand.
We are the generation that will change the world,
So fuck their reprimand.

Five poems to summarize my day.

24 Feb

I. The Interview

April eighteenth.
It seems so far away,
but, from now until then, I will manage to stay mute
on this topic of irrefutable dispute.
Nothing will come from me talking on this subject
except getting hopes too high and feeling let down so low
in the end.
I bite my tongue,
I grit my teeth,
I forever change the subject
until it’s the eighteenth.


II. The Mix Up

I swear I thought I was taking mine,
but instead I ended up taking yours.
Whoever you are, I am truly sorry
that you were deceived from such a treat.
my order was delicious while yours was anything but,
so I saved you from having to drink
your nasty-ass coffee.
You’re welcome.


III. The Boy

Hey boy.
Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy, boy, boy,
the things I wanna do to you,
the things I wanna mean to you,
the things I wanna speak to you.
How could I not realize
that you’ve been standing there
in front of my eyes for seven weeks now.
Oh boy,
how I wanna take you by that manly hand
of yours, gently, like a kiss,
and I will lean in close to softly whisper in your ear…
… Oh shit.
I’ve forgotten how to do this.


IV. The Audition

Suck it.


V. The Friend

Three months
since I’ve heard your voice,
seen your face,
cause you’ve been so far away from me,
lost in outer space, which you dubbed California.
Tonight we drink
in the name of friendship.

Sometimes I Forget the Power of Words.

25 Jan

Last night I performed the vagina monologue I wrote for the first time in front of someone. Not just someone; my co-director of Vagina Monologues. I’m glad that I got the chance to do it for her before performing it this Friday, since we’ve been going through this experience together and I felt most secure delivering it in front of her.

Anyway, when I had completed reciting it she instantly embraced me, and it wasn’t until she let go that I realized she was crying.

This is why I love slam poetry and spoken word. You get this chance to express yourself in this beautiful, poignant way. I know that I am terrible when put on the spot when it comes to specific, personal events in my life. But give me a chance to write a poem about it? No problem. Words are just so powerful. They have this ability to move others emotionally, to touch at that place inside of you that only certain things can. When I deliver a poem to a receptive audience, man, there is no greater feeling in the world.

I guess that’s really all I have to say for today. Normally I’ve got some commentary on something that happens in my day but, meh, today’s been a rather slow/dull day. I will be performing my vagina monologue this Friday and it will be recorded, so I figured this weekend I would upload both the text of my piece and the video to go along with it.

That’s all for now! Ciao!