Sometimes so many ideas
are rushing through my head
That I cry tears
Of words

It seems to me that I've
got myself a situation.
The girl I love doesn't even
know that I exist.
The more I think, the closer
I get to a revelation -
when she's away I'll write
my name down on her grocery list.

Even though we sleep
beside each other every night,
she doesn't reach for me. In turn,
I never reach for her.
I try my best to justify it,
but it isn't right.
The hardest thing to do
seems to be the only cure.

Maybe when I'm gone she'll
see the error of her judgment.
Maybe she'll be sorry when
I ain't walking through the door.
They say that time heals all wounds,
but maybe it doesn't.
At least she'll think of me
when she's shopping at the store.

ideas
thoughts
imagining
perception of beauty
fluttering wings abound
nymphs in the sky
reflection
nymphs in the abyss
goddess training grounds
dancing photons
brilliance unfolding
imagination
critical ingredient
without
what would you see
smeared paint
splattered
palette knife magic
flowing and dripping
imperfections

Did you
figure out how to feel
I've bled
Into all the colors here

Destined
To somehow die alone
I still
Don't understand the throne

Reverence
The summit's height
To capture
Finally fading light

It's all over
Before its begun
It's all over

Wonder why I can't give a ****
Something in the air's got me ******
I don't know, I just woke up
What can I say?

I walk alleys and avenues of broken roads.
Black tops eroded from years of punishing
Rainfall, passerbys and time.

After a hard rain, shallow mirrors open up,
Revealing an unyielding world on its head.

It seems, as I walk amidst the distinguished,
Cracks, chips and pebbles that this moment,
Both real and a memory is everlasting.

Overcast, both dismal and hopeful, I read
Between the skylines of the upsidedown.

I breath in this parallel, I write it all down,
A collection of neverhaves.

A creation that is mine for the making, or
For the taking, should I wish.

any ideas for a good slam poem?

have you ever noticed that you never
see famous female poets who look
like marilyn or nicki or ari?

even the girls today whose words
are celebrated can't sell their rhymes
without selling their bodies.

i guess the new femme fatale
might be less feminist than i thought:
when your looks can ****, they ******
your ideas.

when your lips pucker like roses
and your body is angelic--
we let you take our libidos to heaven
but not our minds.

perfect is not defined by a single person
perfect is not a set mold made by someone
perfect is not the same image to everyone.

perfect is what and who you want to become.

perfection cannot compare you to another.
it compares you to yourself.

Perfect is being a better you than you were yesterday.

Perfect is not something unattainable
Perfect is not something pure and absolute
Perfect is not being the best at everything or even something

Perfect is choosing acceptance
Perfect is embracing who you are
Perfect is beauty within flaws
perfect is the cracks in a mirror
perfect is the smiling through pain

perfect is not a number on a test
perfect is not a rank among classmates
perfect is not the schools you get accepted to

perfect is choosing to do better than your best
perfect is pushing you beyond the edge into an abyss
perfect is the scars from the monsters you conquer

perfect is pride in all that you are and all you achieve
perfect is finding love in the darkest of places

perfect is not what someone else tells you
perfect is what you tell yourself it is