I smell. . . . horse ****. It's less offensive than the ******* i've been seeing lately They say it with their hands, mouths, eyes Desperate offences in defence of the indefensible
Tonight i sat in a safe space where we clicked to show our appreciation Heard resonations of clicking when a poet spoke words that darted through our foreheads And lit something there.
We knew the responses: "This is new ****" NEEEEEEEWWWW ****?! Clap the poet, not the points the points are not the point
We knew we were offered
hearts
more than words
Their rhythms and awakenings, arrhythmias, overflowings, and midnight ponderings.
So we put our own into our palms and beat them together for every poet who dared to touch that microphone to their chest.
I wrote this after a day at tafe studying australian sign language. I was feeling worn down by casual racism, sexism and transphobia in our class. That night i went to my first poetry slam and i was BLOWN AWAY by the generous, brave, honest, caring people that got up on stage to share part of themselves with us and what an accepting space the slam was :-)