#slam poems on Hello Poetry

Amanda Fletcher Apr 2015

People say I’m loud,
I just wish my voice would carry with the wind and
into the ears of everybody who’s not asking to hear
what I’m talking about.
You didn’t invite yourself,
I invited you to hear me out.

You won’t hear me,
you’ll hear my object of choice
held high with two hands, to the sky, to the spray of your tear
gas in my eyes,
but be not blinded in sight as you are deaf to the ear,
loud and clear
you see my poison spilled on the mattress my body was mutilated on,
shoving out through my sweaty hands,
drip, drip, dripping onto the streets you defend with
your devices of destruction.

My words weight is less than a million dollars,
less than a tuition,
less than my fore father’s current colleagues
who are counting down days from suits to polo shoes,
making face on the last of their public legacy,
they don’t want a face like me writing slogans on their cities about ignorance and inconsistency.

I guess I’m not loud enough,
it takes more than volume to raise
The roof the roof the roof is on fire.
Save the pen, the paper, your voices and chairs,
your mattress and umbrellas that protect us
from your outrage at my outrageous voice
Silenced by a shield. Silenced by batons.
Silenced by political power without political people,
incorrect intentions, raging with rovers 100 feet above my head
exploding like an overfilled balloon.

You can beat my words down
but you can’t burn my furniture,
bigger than you, bolder than you, screaming louder
through a mouth it doesn’t even possess,
looking on the face of a choir, a whole choir,
asking to cure our disease.
I will hold my symbols of faith, ****, and freedom in my right hand
and swear to tell the truth,
the whole truth and nothing but the truth
until our protest has made a difference,
until my metal chairs have molded your thoughts
into signatures on a page of on a page of social justice.
It just is, bigger than you, bolder than you, louder than me,
Don’t test me, Test my furniture.
It will always be heard.

People say I'm loud.
I just wish my voice would carry into the ears
or everybody not asking to hear what I am talking about.
Well, I'm not talking,
My object speaks pretty loud.

Written under pen name Jason Red

Meant to be read aloud

#symbolism #slam #protest

stephanie Apr 2015

the ocean

The first step to living
was cutting my hair.

I cut it so I wouldn't have anything to hide behind when I'm scared
no more waves to sink into no more lake to drown in.
I was slowly pulling myself out of the ocean of anxiety but still rocking back and forth in a boat that had a leak in it. I kept trying to cover up the hole but no matter what I did it still reached me.
The ocean was always cold, no matter the weather. It only seemed to carry sharks that circled my boat day in and day out.

I went to the beach once for a week and every time I'd try to have fun in the ocean the waves pushed me down and almost ripped my bikini off at least 5 times, I can still taste the salt in my mouth just thinking about it.
The best part about the whole trip wasn't being with the sharks, it wasn't falling down in the ocean, it was simply riding a bike through town, having the wind whisk away all my worries.
I wish I could ride that wind. Ride that wind until I land on the moon, where I could be alone but still having the most attention. I am that girl who craves love and affection but is confused as **** when it is given to me.
Maybe that's why I pushed him way; not just because he was a bad kisser. Or maybe it was because every word I said went through him like it was nothing, I ended up repeating myself time and time again only to hear the echo of my voice.
this time it's different, though. when he kisses me I kiss him back with as much force as he gave. I touch him when he touches me and boy, I cant keep my hands off him. he listens to me and his takes every word I say and puts it in his pocket, ready to bring it up later. he's the only boy that loves my hair as short as it is and knows that I hate the ocean. He is like the cave that sits near the ocean, ready to take me in and hold me in his arms for as long as I need him to. He shelters me from the ocean spray.

#love #word #sad #anxiety #thoughts #spoken #slam #long

Maddy Van Buren Apr 2015

the headache, the heart attack

an unrelenting headache
only saying words to get girls
to sink into bed with you
as you're too insecure
to ever really
sleep alone
and I know, oh I know
a face pristine
for many reasons
God gave you a look
in lieu of conscience
set fire to your heart,
tongue beating out words,
too many words
I longed to hear
words that made me touch you
you begged for me to touch you
I'm numb since I touched you
pit me against the last
that's all you ever did
but I know, I've known
you keep a tidy home
but there are doors, you say,
leading to nowhere
but I know where
and your closets lock girls inside
trapped in figment
objectified or dignified?
should they be honored
that after you touched their body
and fed them lies
you chose to keep their skeletons
in faroff doorways of the mind?
which only open on occasion
as you reminisce and remember
you never got over her laugh
and her scent never really did leave
and now, here you lay
trapped in bed with another one
but here she lingers
and here she stays
as the new her drops kisses
down your neck; you sweat
and tell her she cannot linger
she cannot stay
her hour glass body run out
sunrise hair faded midday
she's given, given, given
for your take, her mistake
goodnight to your girl
and pray God has mercy
for cruel little heart attacks
like you

#love #heartbreak #sad #girl #pain #hurt #boy #upset #slam #heartbreaker

Jacquelyn Audrey Whiston Mar 2015

15

The first time I wrote about you, I thought you would think it was romantic, I thought you would appreciate all the time I thought of you.
The second, I realized you weren't here for romance or flowers or kisses on the porch.
The third, I wished you were.
The forth, I settled with being an object of your torture, and sometimes play.
The fifth, I decided I was nothing with or without you.
The sixth time I wrote about you it was about the **** I told everyone else was the first time we had ***.
The seventh, I pretended that my broken rib didn't stab into my lung when I coughed up the tar that filled my lungs, I picked up habits that could never hurt me more than you.
The eighth time was when you decided I was worth your time again.
The ninth was the first time I said I loved you, and it felt like I hated you.
The tenth, I was territorial, I wanted to be the only one you abused.
The eleventh, I played with the idea of you loving me, the key word was played.
The twelfth time I wrote about you, I pretended this was a normal high school crush, not the connection to you sealed with the reddened amber keeping you close to me.

The thirteenth. The thirteenth time I had a dream where I starved you, like my fruitful forgiveness of your sins was the very nectar that fed your body, and I starved you.

The fourteenth you were kind. The only time you were ever kind to me was the fourteenth. This span of time was when I fell back in love with the man who made me forget what it even was, and felt guilt about the thirteenth.

The fifteenth. The fifteenth time I wrote about you was on Easter. I was reborn into a life of loneliness and constantly trying to get you back.
Age Fifteen was when you first hit me but sometimes I still consider fifteen my lucky number.

slam poem

#love #poetry #hate #fifteen #abuse #slam #slampoetry #15

Jayce Childress Mar 2015

Why?

Why cant I be someone i want to be?
Why can't I have the body I was meant to have?
All I want is someone to look at me and able to see me
Jayce not Kylie
Boy not girl
My life has been ****** up since birth
But to the rest of the world Kylie is just a tomboy or something else
Why cant I just be me and not get yelled at or made fun of?
Why does some of the world pick favorites?
Get over it the world doesn't only consist of cis straight men/female
We arent that much different just something that makes us unique.

I made this because I was mad at people on youtube that were making fun of FTM
and MTF's

#poem #slam #ftm

Eliza Parker Mar 2015

Slam 1: Forward

Forward is a difficult direction to move towards.

Walking away from him is moving forward
But staying with him is moving backward
And ten steps towards the bottle is moving backward
And ten steps away from the bottle is moving forward.
So how do you know what way to point your compass when the direction you're told to go in is completely arbitrary?

When I was younger moving forward meant success.
Getting A’s and B’s and staying out of trouble.
But as I grew up the little details that used to be irrelevant started twisting the path and what was once a straight shot is now a complicated maze of dead ends and trolls under bridges.

Moving forward was put on hold when puberty set in and the idea of body image made me obsessed with every mark and shape of my skin. When boys were no longer gross but objects of affection. When friends became more than friends and best friends was synonymous with jealousy.

Moving forward became more fuzzy when a new substance was introduced to me that made walking in a straight line more difficult than usual but when it got dark I wasn’t so scared of what lay on either side of me.

Moving forward became more interesting when you could inhale giggles and laziness or melt rainbows and dreams onto your tongue.

Moving forward was stopped completely the second time my best friend was ***** and I had to leave my path to hold her hand as she tried to move forward on her own.

Moving forward slowed once I made it back to my own road but checked behind my shoulder every few seconds because I now understood that there are really ****** people in this world.

Moving forward complicated itself when love became the ultimate distraction.
When I stopped mid journey to take the scenic route in another human being and thought I was still moving forward but actually was getting hopelessly lost.
Then he left me in the thickest part of the forest and I started to move backwards to retrace sunken steps in a ground I was too naïve to realize was muddy the first time I had walked it.

And I have to come to the realization that moving on and moving forwards are not the same thing because my feet can place themselves one in front of the other all day long but it does not mean that my heart drags far behind in a state of helpless nostalgia that moving due north will not solve.

Soon enough distractions no longer sway me from my path.
My surroundings are a blur because everything that makes me full of light I have already passed and I am told over and over again to keep moving forward.

So I will no longer stray.

I will keep my eyes on the horizon and hope the soles of my shoes along with my spirit do not wear down before I arrive at my destination.
I have no idea of where I am going but maybe if I keep moving in the direction that is “forward” I will get there
And maybe one day arrive somewhere that makes me feel whole again.

kind of a slam poem i think. more evocative when spoken but thought i would share.

#love #life #slam #road

Jimmy Solanki Mar 2015

Homesick/To die in your arms

Speeding down paths I never knew existed.
My troubled mind and troubled heart always had you for company. I could have died in your arms. I was at home finally when I was close enough to your heart that I could hear its beats.

It seems odd now that I have to stay away. That your arms are a shield around the very heart I helped mend, which was as much yours as mine. That I never took back my heart from your *****, where it will always stay.

And though I may become bitter, or I may try and erase you from my head, you will always be there. Like a meteorite on earth, you hit me at full speed, right down to my core. I was changed in ways I couldn't have imagined possible.

I'm homesick now. I try find you in other people. I try building new homes. But I buried my heart near yours and that is where it will always stay. I could have died in your arms. I was at home. Finally.

#love #heartbreak #slam #homesick

Marissa Mar 2015

Blood To Show

Lost at sea
Alone in my fears
Everyone has gone to bed early but I stay up for days on end
Tortured by day.
Solace is in the silence
That night brings
But it's dangerous or a
Woman to walk alone at night.
Funny how my genitals are an excuse
For everything I try to achieve
Cotton candy bubblegum
Doesn't fill my veins.
I am also not a closeted
*******
Just because my face is pierced
And my hair is bright.
I am not an object.
I am not a thing to be taken.
A thing to poke at with sticks
To see if I bleed sweetness.
No one cares.
No one takes the time to look
At my face without noticing
My chest first.
I bleed the same as you
Sir.
Please don't touch me
Sir.
Stop
Sir.
SIR.
Get off my appearance.
Care for once.
Not about my looks but
The flesh and bone
You are prodding
With sticks.
I only have so much
Blood to show you.

#depression #pain #anxiety #hurt #gender #blood #*** #guilt #feminism #slam