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We live in a world of high speed wreckage, so much so that I fear our youth
Have been desensitized to the sight of death and destruction; It's only a
Few clicks away with our media addiction but, that's not what I'm here to
Talk with you about today. No, I think it's time we take a 3 minute break
Of high-speed mentality, to break free of swift reality if only for a moment.
Speaking of moments, I need everybody to close their eyes for a time. No, seriously, close them.
I want to tell you a story that sight cannot settle, no semblance of reality, for
Some things are meant for eyes, others for ears, still yet others are meant
For the mind. For the soul. Let us sail on a ship of sound, a journey, collectively.
Now sit still, and listen.

So what is it we percieve behind eyelids shut tight? Before we fall asleep at night?
On one hand, it is nothingness; no light to comfort us, such a solemn black.
I guess I can't speak for you but, at times I get sad before I sleep. I think back to
Every promise someone didn't keep, all the words I was too scared to speak; or
the whispers my lovers' lips never returned, like "I love you". In short, I
Was lonely. There is something in the act of cutting off sight that leaves me
With a crippling sensation of isolation. But something tells me I'm not the only one
All-too familiar with this sense of suffocation. Somehow I feel as though this is
Shared not only with you, but with the person sitting next to you, and beside them too.
But, I'm not here to depress you, and so let me share some words I once wrote with you;

Lost souls
Drink ink.
But only wither,
With the weather.
Like roses,
And dead.
But they're beautiful,
You know.

You see, it was a poem I had written around the age of sixteen, and I didn't really get it then but,
"But they're beautiful, you know" was a seed of thought that blossomed in the next few years;
The thought that sometimes the broken things are the most beautiful for they are perfect in the story
That they tell. The story of imperfection; of affection; of sweet affliction; whatever words you
Deem worthy of describing our time here on Earth. Put simply; we are stupid, pointless, silly, exquisite humanity.
Like shattered glass, we can never be what we once were but only arrange ourselves into a magnificent stainglass window,
Allowing the sunlight of our lives to paint a picture of whatever unique self-disciplined blessings we choose to give
And when the sun starts to set, allow me to remind you of this; being along has never hindered the beauty of a sunset over a meadow,
Visible by standing in the treeline on top of a gently rolling hill. And so I dare you, I dare you to live alone, yet married
To the aesthetics of one eye, instead of two. I dare you
to fall in love
with you.

If you haven't already, you can open your eyes now. Our break is coming to a close; soon we'll be back to tweets on twitter
Instead of outside our windows before the sun rises each morning. But after I'm done speaking I hope you can take something with you.
Specifically, the next time you feel like crying yourself to sleep at night; remember this poem. If not in it's entirety, remember just this;
You are stupid, pointless, silly, exquisite humanity and there is not one bone in your body that is not broken or incomparably beautiful.
Know that somewhere I'm out there, hoping that you drift with a smile into sleep.
Hey guys! This is a slam piece I just finished. I plan on performing it at a slam on thursday, so critiques/insights would be REALLY appreciated. Thanks so much!
THIS **** ******* *****!
You have deleted every profile picture
and cover photo with us in it,
Ten times out of Ten you changed
your laptop background of all the pictures
of us,
Forgot the song that you gave us 3 years ago,
changed your cell phone background,
deleted the cell phone pictures,
Go to sleep without thinking a bit about me,
Talk about me casually to people like I
pretty much don’t ******* exist,
And to top it all off,
You are probably the happiest you’ve ever been.
Like our relationship was nothing but handcuffs of burden
you were dying to break out of.
I guess my lies and stupid decisions were memory cards
large enough to completely erase all of our past data -
How is this so easy for you?
How is walking around campus easy for you?
How is going home alone easy for you?
How is cooking alone easy for you?
How is sleeping alone easy for you?
We have marked our forevers on every inch of this
25,000 populated resident.
I can’t go 3 feet without remembering a time where
we were here, and there, and EVERYWHERE.
How we held hands on every speck of the sidewalks,
How our favorite bus seat is now unoccupied,
And our short cuts that weren’t really short cuts,
just flatter ground to walk on because you were so
lazy to walk that way is now a ghost filled alley
of “I don’t give a ****”

What also ***** is I still do all of your habits.
Like put my sides of food on top of one another.
Or how I turn off the lights when I leave a room,
Or how I now buy that Gain powdery washing
stuff for my clothes
Or how I turn off the sink when I’m brushing my teeth,
AND how even though I am not lactose intolerant like you are,
I DON’T ******* KNOW!

My mom always told me I will learn everything the hard way.
I guess I wasn’t meant to get my first real relationship
right the first time around.
I would rather wish for God to come take back his Saints
but leave me on earth’s dying wasteland
than this.
I feel like I am wasting my time saving myself for that
hint of what if called, faith
but then doubt comes along and says,
She’s gone.
She’s never coming back.
Move. On.

It’s so hard for me.
What harder is that I know it’s easy for you.
Goodnight pumpkin, I luv you. L-U-V U.
Dear mom,
Nothing ****** me off more than misspelling the word Love.
If you’re not willing to put two seconds into a text or even a letter
to spell it correctly, then you need a ******* dictionary.
The only time you looked into a dictionary was to find words big enough so they could fit through ears but not into my brain making it easier for lies to flow out of your mouth like it is second nature.
The only truth that ever spit out of your mouth like lemon juice, was when you told us, not all lives have happy endings.
But when you were still here, and I was only eight,
you let me watch disney movies so I could learn my own fate.
One of the movies taught me that if I said Ohana means family,
that you’d respond with,
family means no one gets left behind, or forgotten
But you left your kids to pursue Your happiness,
Now every time you leave to Pennsylvania another memory of us flies away from the airport you call a body just like the planes you get on,
Your lies create a tornado that destroys everything in it’s path,
and my life is a flat ground so this spiral of emotions won’t stop until you do.
You circled your yin-yang arms around me for the first time in the hospital, that was the same night people in white coats handed you a certificate with my name written on it, Now anytime my name is brought up in a subject you pull your hoodie over your head as a sign of embarrassment.
I want you to feel the pain you have been giving me for the last 2
years when you hear this poem.

I want you to realize that you’re the reason my feelings are
scribbled down to make a mess out on paper.

Every night I make a new river with my tears and when I realize you are
lying to me, it makes waves of depression
and those waves, are created by earthquakes of anger.
These waves are strong enough to break through any hoover dam
made up of antidepressants and pills that will only make me what
you want me to be which is “normal”?
If you tell someone you love them at least have the audacity to
mean it.
Be a the definition of a mom and care about us and our
feelings, and not just your own.
Mom, I-L-O-V-E-Y-O-U
Ohana means Family, but no one said family would last forever. But
you always will last forever, in my heart
A poem About my mom
I’ve been conditioned
like freshly washed hair
for years
do not offend
unless the end of the sentence is “im sorry”
let the shoes and boots and heels of many make indents on you
like blueprints of demurity swaddled in insecurity
kept alive by the blurry ideas i once held about femininity
because i couldn't be a girl if the words that flew from my chords
were anything but rosy
ring around the Josie, pockets full of suppose he was to compliment your ****
when walking down a thorough-fair
busy people back and forth and grandmas with wrinkled sweaters
thank you
muttered from chapped lips and an even more chapped psyche
why must i keep my wits about to not risk making him angry
that was not complimentary but i am fearful he might spit my words back onto me
in the form of fists and slurs and honestly
im tired
of being the sidewalk beneath the feet of creeps
i am the sky and the trees and the moon
but i do not speak with the wisdom of travelling seeds
i speak with the warmth and subtlty of freshly microwaved milk
like soft silk i wish i could tatter
i wish venom soaked words could be spit in response to your “compliments”
but i would rather let you diminish me for the few moments it takes to objectify me
than to risk angering your inner beast and suffering the consequences of meninism or masculinism
whatever the word is this week
i will not be another number
ink soaked paper red with the monthly bloodshed of the sisters
every second is another unspeakable act
i see women
with tongues as round and large as planets
and tonsils the size of solar systems
birthing new galaxies in the words they speak
and shooting comets like fiery ***** of comebacks
when that slack-jawed fool sat and wished and drooled
into his monthly issue of mens rights magazine
she tore down the even minuscule belief he could have had that he had the right to comment on her body
in three seconds his pride, and entitlement
shifted into shame
and embarrassment
and i envy these women
because the only time i can take back my power
is when i am standing in front of a room
speaking rhymes and metaphors preaching independence and strength
to a group of people who now think i am a hero
i am not a hero
i put my shoes on one foot at a time
and i still manage to forget a couple days of birth control here and there
and i cant stand up for myself
in the moments after an attack i retreat into my latte and pray today will not be the day the male dominated society takes my power away
because i am small
and though i am growing every day
i still can only pray
that one way or another
i will be able to be as strong a woman as my sisters
my mother
and take back my power
and speak not with the beauty of a flower
but with the sharpness of a bumblebees sting
and one more thing
your compliments
are not complimentary
Because the definition of beauty isn't something as simple as your face
It's your very soul and mind  
The way you look at things with such childlike curiosity
Your mind an ocean of untapped creativity  
Your heart forever expanding, fueled by love and joy
And yet you still look in the mirror every single day, hating the person you've become
So you twist yourself into something ugly and fake
Don't tell me nothing's wrong when I can see you slowly dying inside and letting society  chain you up and break you down  Until all you can hear is; "Skinny, pretty, skinny, pretty, skinny, pretty,-"
You see the size of those jeans. Doubting, criticizing. Esteem thin as paper.  
Posting a million pictures to get likes from complete strangers. Wanting, craving, needing people to tell you that you’re beautiful. Looking for anyone else’s opinion but your own.
Because you refuse to look into that ****** mirror and even associate beauty with that person staring back at you.  
You judge your self-worth by weather or not a man finds you attractive.
Because that’s the only thing that matter right?
The definition of beauty that others set fourth for you.
A path that you don’t dare stray from.
It wasn't always like this
Being young, being free, meant being you
Laughing as hard as you wanted to
Smiling with your teeth  
And wearing that cute dress you've always loved.  
Getting older, getting bullied, getting shamed
Your laugh was obnoxious  
Teeth were just a bit crooked  
That dress, not as cute anymore
We shouldn't be wasting our lives trying to impress people
Don't look to others to tell you you're beautiful  
Look inside of yourself
And if you don't see anything worth wild
You're not looking hard enough
You judge yourself by looks alone. Not factoring in who you are as an individual.  
Whether you want to believe it or not you're beautiful, inside and out
I think it's about ****** time you stop listening to someone else's definition of beauty
And start looking for your own
This is a slam poem, it is meant to be read out loud. To be given a voice. Don't be afraid to portray your emotion.
Highschool! Supposingly the “time of our lives” or where a study guide is more important than our mental state of being! It’s also the only place where you write thousand of definitions every year, but you can’t even define your self worth. Where you solve millions of equations, but you can’t even add up your life value. Solve for your life, school-health(life)= future. The definitive times of our lives are turning into the worst. Balancing your social wellbeing with the hell of being popular and skinny, even starving yourself for days because the queen bee bought herself the newest style, and it’s a size too small. Subtracting the calories from the equation of wanting to binge your heart out while cramming for the test of flirting with that new boy after school. Adding the new dress, new heels, and new personality to your already masked appearance because the party you got invited to is where the “prettiest” of girls add up your self worth for you solving for the simplest equation. Makeup(Skinny)(Big ****)(Tall)= PRETTY. The word everyone seems to have a definition for except you. A word that could try to define your schooling career, but you can’t find the correct sources. Then theres the nights where you stay up until the early dawn, sobbing yourself to sleep because you can’t remember how to do so on your own. The definition of sleep : A natural periodic state of rest for the mind and body. But who remembers that? How am I supposed to solve the equation of rest? These definitions make up your state of being, piercing to your brain like clothing labels, being ripped off when they are no longer needed. The equations make up your body, or what's naturally left of it. Memorizing everything a person says about you, adding up the looks you get in the hallways rushing to class, reading the syllabus to everyone’s expectations for you. Expectations. Expectations. EXPECTATIONS. They come as blurs, never specific or clear enough. They shove through your tired brain and ram your esteem up walls. The perfect image of a student and friend and girlfriend and PERSON. Applications come out, every question answered honestly, truthfully, a reflection of SELF. Self? Can you use that word in a sentence? Is there a way to solve it? You’ve thrown out the files to your internal layers, not seeming important enough to pass the next big history test or worthy of the SAT prep due in a week. You can’t pass the exam in your mind testing on the ability to stay sane and make it into the college in your brain because it’s been shut down due to: inclement conditions.  Add up all of this and you get the equation of highschool and equation to pass the social barrier. Congradulations! You’ve graduated someones judgement of your self worth and now you have to define it on your own.

Self (n:) a person's essential being that distinguishes them from others.

Distinguish from others. Different? NO! Suspension has kicked you out of the brain and difference is a TOTAL reputation ruiner. You’ve spent your entire life hypothesizing the idea of NORMAL. Different is an old definition with a new sound, wanting to be sweet and free. But in reality locked in a detention classroom, waiting for it to be used openly. It’s like this: run multiple copies of the same person on the copy machine and then paste them around the school with imitating personalities and similar words. The word different doesn’t apply to this equation.

Can you even use it in a sentence?  

Can I even be used in a sentence?

A slam I wrote for my honors English class.
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