#slam
Music--
Y’all should get into the habit of listening to ‘real’ music
You know what I mean?
Like 1970s Pink Floyd, ya know?
That’s the type of sh!t older people like to say
That’s what dads, grampas, and old folks like to say,
ya know,
“You know you young kids don’t even know what ‘real’ music is these days,”
ya know,
My dad and I would always drive around,
Drive around listening to the radio
while hunting pheasants and whatnot,
And Pink Floyd would come on the radio,
And my dad would joke and say “Oh, it’s ‘Black Lloyd’”
And he would tell me how the band–
Pink Floyd, or ‘Black Lloyd’--
How the band was just one sole person,
Just one soul who made all their songs,
And I grew through adolescence questioning him and believing him and questioning him,
Much like all the other things he taught me–
See–
See, my dad–
My dad, he–
He taught me many things,
Many wondrous, amazing, dumb, confusing things that–
That at the time i wasnt realllly sure what i was learning or what i was supposed to believe–
Like how could just one guy make music like that?--
But i always listened to my dad and all the things he taught me,
And I'd always find out later if he was right or not—
But he was always right
He was always right in some way
And I don't think he ever realizes how smart he actually is–
How smart he is when it comes to his
philosophical/
metaphorical life lessons–
But he’d always say
“Listen to this”
when ‘real’ music was playing–
“Listen, Tyler, this is good sh!t”--
And i’d listen and like it and agree
Even if I didn't like it,
Even if I didn't think it was ‘real’ music or not,
But see–
My dad, he–
He always had a way of teaching me things,
Teaching me without even knowing he was,
Like what ‘real’ music actually is
and what ‘real’ music means,
‘Cuz i think i know now
I think i know now exactly what he meant about listening to the ‘good sh!t’
And what the ‘old folks’ really mean when they say
“You should listen to ‘real’ music”
Because i grew to like a lotta Pink Floyd,
And even though I learned the band is not just one black guy named ‘Lloyd’
I found some ‘real’ music,
Like my favorite song they have–
My favorite song they have, doesn't even have words–
On the album “Dark Side of the Moon”--
“The Great Gig in the Sky”--
It’s just ‘real’ music and some lady is just wailing out her vocal chords–
But i found out it’s ‘real’ music and i love it
I found out it’s ‘real’ music because i love it
And that’s what my dad really taught me–
He taught me that we should all listen to ‘real’ music,
And I've learned we all have our own ‘real’ music–
Music that makes us feel,
Music that makes us feel real–
Makes us feel some type of thing or some type of way
Or makes us feel a feeling we don’t even know what it even feels like
But it’s ‘real’ music because it makes us something more real
And when i see my dad in his garage blaring old blues music–
Sometimes music i don’t like–
I know he’s listening to ‘real’ music–
‘Real’ music because he loves it–
He loves it and loves to feel that music–
And I love that,
And i love him,
And i love ‘real’ music,
And everybody needs to find ‘real’ music–
Everybody needs to find their own “Dark Sides of the Moons”
and their “Great Gigs in the Skies”
So, find your ‘Black Lloyds’
And find your ‘Pink Floyds’
And find your ‘real’ music.
Mar 29
Mar 29, 2026 at 11:11 AM UTC
Words--
Words have the power
To do so much
So then why
Why do we say so little?
I remember
What it was like
Back in 8th grade
I remember those feelings
Feeling stuck in the middle
In this middle school
But school memories fade
But certain things
Always stay
Always
Like
how i could never seem to say what i wanted to say
Like
how using my voice was some type of self-violence
Like
If i said something wrong it would've hurt my rep in math or science
It would've hurt by “cred” with the “cool” crew of kids
I always knew the answers
But my brain wouldn't brain
And my mind would fixate on
Silence…
…
Oh well,
I tried so hard
But I guess it’s not “cool” to be smart anyways
I tried so hard
But I guess it’s not “cool” to be a “try hard” anyways
Now we can't even use our own words
And now we rely on AI
Now it’s like we’re okay if our own voices die
Take me back to when AI wasn’t the answer
“Back in the days”
Back when A.I. was “The Answer”
Allen Iverson
The baller
We all thought he was cool with his crossovers and basketball moves
And all his tattoos
And headbands and cornrows and dreads
And how he demanded and commanded attention wherever he went
But now we can’t even attend to the simplest of things
For even ten seconds
Now we keep losing our attention spans
Ticking away
Tick tick tick–
Ope!
Just lost another tenth of a second
Now we just need things quick so we make just one click
And the answer is whatever and however AI tells it
So that’s the answer that sticks
Even if it’s wrong
Close the screen
Open your mind
You can’t trust AI all the time
Trust me–you’ll be fine
Mar 29
Mar 29, 2026 at 11:10 AM UTC
I really want to do it, frankly.
It's the right time.
Spring is buzzing.
Still in its gray cloak.
But the sky is blue.
Blue like the color.
Of the earth in the veins.
Of the kings and queens of this world.
Who will be the only ones.
To live eternally.
Young in the hell.
That they invent.
And our friends will be.
In the great ocean.
Of existence.
Like a wild wave.
Telling on the beach.
Its journey.
Mar 20
Mar 20, 2026 at 2:39 PM UTC
The morning after you **** yourself
your clothes will still be in the hamper,
Your leftovers in the fridge,
Your phone beside your lifeless body
The letters you wrote before you lost conciseness
Sitting on the dresser
Your little brother bounces with excitement
Knocking on your door wanting his big sister to come play
He opens the door still thinking your asleep
He comes to your lifeless body
He sees the pomegranate red blood that has soaked the sheets
The scream he lets out you would’ve said was obnoxious
But now your lifeless body lies in front of him
The morning after you **** yourself everything will begin the same
But the purity of morning may not last forever
Feb 13
Feb 13, 2026 at 10:14 AM UTC
parasite's in the quiet caue lord knows a muthafucka to scared to sit in silence,the silence speaks back so you chase bodies like a coroner do suckin up energy like a succubus ***** ***** the soul from a ***** you not lonely. You just allergic with yo own soul and never found out how to make yo soul glow every time they sit still, The inner you becomes your enemy and starts knocking like a landlord with eviction papers so you run into arms of toxicity for somebody, anybody to distract you away from self who can keep the truth from echoing in your skull, they call it love naw its survival. spiritual shoplifter. stealing warmth from whoever dumb enough to stand close you ride coattails, like lifelines, dragging behind people with real gravity, hoping proximity can disguise yo emptiness, but the street sees thirst the sight is unmistakable especially to a predatory dater you can’t outrun your own shadow. You can’t hide from the mirror when that muthafucka lives in your chest hitchhiking on souls cause you too scared to walk alone and the prophecy is simple if you can’t sit with you in silence, you’ll spend your whole life, begging strangers to mute it for you.
Jan 18
Jan 18, 2026 at 1:12 PM UTC
Just ******* stop it.
Stop being mean to each other.
Stop making every sentence a weapon
because you are scared of what silence will show you.
You will have to tell yourself
stop
the way you tell a hand not to touch the alarm clock.
Over and over.
Maybe forever.
Because some habits are just trauma
wearing your voice like a borrowed coat.
But change really can be that simple.
Not easy.
Simple.
Stop.
And if you cannot stop,
pause.
Not as a trick.
Not as a punishment.
Just pause like you are pulling your own body
back from the edge.
A breath.
A minute.
A sunrise.
A glass of water.
A text you do not send.
Let the fight die of oxygen deprivation.
Let the sharp words starve.
Soon a break becomes a pause,
and a pause becomes a choice,
and that is good enough.
Because you start to see how continuing
does not make you right
it just makes you lonely
in a room you both live in.
Stopping is for you
as much as
it is for them.
It is you choosing not to be the kind of pain
you already have enough of.
So stop it.
Dec 30, 2025
Dec 30, 2025 at 6:02 PM UTC
I wish broccoli tasted like chocolate,
so fat kids would live forever.
I would like to change people as a whole,
especially arrogant, hypocritical people who claim:
"Fm a kinder, better person because I don't eat meat,"
yet wear makeup and skin products tested on thoughtful animals
just to look 'prettier' because Hollywood lied to you when you were a girl.
I want to change the same people who like pictures on Facebook
to 'end hunger in Africa' but yet buy affordable and 'in' clothing and shoes
made on the sweat, blood, and tears of hungry, underprivileged children.
If I could say one thing it's that WE ARE ALL TO BLAME.
If I could change the world I would change how hunger feels.
Not the hunger of a promising football player with padded leather boots,
or the hunger of an up-and-coming Wall Street businessman.
But the hunger of a single Burundi child coimting his ribs,
one, two, three, four...
who then stops to cradle the outline of his beating, tired, and spent heart.
I ask him how it feels and through cracked lips he whispers:
"My stomach is slapping my spine,
and the knuckles of my heart are knock, knock, knocking
on the door of my ribcage but nobody ever answers."
I wish I could change how kids at my school laugh and caU each other gay
like it's a bad word.
Even the nice ones who say "It's okay, my best friend is gay."
Hah, like it's not spiteful.
Words sprung from hate but the teachers still ignore it because
the bond between a man and a woman is sacred,
and no one wants to get in trouble.
If I could change myself, I would make it so that I believed in God,
and how even the hungry children and dead animals get to go to white-person heaven
alongside the fat bully who calls me gay.
But I can't believe in God,
because to me, no answers were written in scriptures 2000 years ago,
and no Priest can forgive what damage I've done to others.
And I don't think Til ever know why we're here,
or the meaning of life,
but I doubt I'll find It on the lips of lying Popes.
I wish I could change so that my red, raging words actually helped put out the fire
Instead of fueling the anger and hate that burned firom the tiny ember of a little boy who always felt so different.
I wish I could be satisfied,
I wish suburbia and mortgages with bill-pay phones and scratch lottery cards were
enough.
To answer your question,
I want to change everjdhlng.
E m i l e R a v e n e t
Dublin, 2013
Oct 11, 2025
Oct 11, 2025 at 6:45 PM UTC
Born in romania, adopted to canada
Traumatizing experiences shape me
But they don’t shape me no more
As i walk i walk alone
This is the ******* path that i choose
I had many a friends
But they did not mean anything to me
Honour
That is really important
Discpline
That makes life beautiful
But never too perfect
The victims if terrorism before me
I was a a victim of terrorism
A victim of war
But now i survive i am a survivor
The world needs more positivity
Less anger and hate
That is baggage think about the
Hope and love that needs to be spread amoung
Us all
Like butter on bread
Think twice before you speak
For it will be the last someone hears
Think twice before you act
For it will be the last someone see
Sep 21, 2025
Sep 21, 2025 at 12:02 AM UTC
Hard Core
poetry
is,
coming on through,
to the closest
city, and
town near you,
I am Rough,
I am Tough,
you just
can't get enough,
I know how
I flow, and
I know what's up,
I am coming
with strength,
I am coming
with power,
I be laying down
these words,
like every single
hour,
I enjoy what I do,
no time
for feeling
blue,
I want to
be the one,
to motivate
you,
I will lift your
heavy burders,
like a feather,
you'll feel higher,
and
the one to
encourage,
as I so
desire,
no clouds
of gray,
they shall go
for away,
optimistic,
feeling good,
sunny skies all day,
spitting out
dope lyrics,
that is it, and
that's all,
I am coming,.
RIGHTt-AT-CHA!!!
TOP SPEED,
THIS IS
RAW!!!!!
B.R.
Date: 9/15/2025
Sep 15, 2025
Sep 15, 2025 at 10:06 PM UTC
“Good morning [redacted] high school! Today we will be preforming our lockdown drill.”
“Please remember it is just a drill.”
Just a drill is what they say as if I’m not practicing what could very well
be the way I die
Just a drill this time but what about next?
You want me to hide in the corner
Quiet as a mouse
The lights turned out
Make it seem like we aren’t there
But we are
We are there
Being hunted
In a place we are meant to learn math
Not how to use a tourniquet
It is just a drill
But it wasn’t drill for other kid
The one who didn’t go home yesterday
The one whose mom is crying?
Maybe the first grader who can’t wear light up shoes
Because he might need to hide
I am not their target practice
If I don’t stand up for my rights
Who will
That’s the thing about my generation
We don’t know when to stand up
We’ve been taught to
Sit down
Be quiet
Paint yourself as the black sleep
It’s just a drill
Until it’s your child.
Sep 11, 2025
Sep 11, 2025 at 11:35 AM UTC
I was so young barley double digits
All I needed was a hug
To be told everything would be ok
Nothing seemed ok
I was changing
Everyone was changing
I stopped worrying about if my bike tires had air
Instead I started worrying about my hair
Why were people staring
I worried about what was wrong with me
Why was I like this
too loud
Too sensitive
Too different
I needed a hug
But I picked up the blade
I need to feel something
I wanted the pain
I was 10 when the lines began
I was just a child
Barley double digits
Who reached for the blade
Instead of reaching for some help
Aug 6, 2025
Aug 6, 2025 at 6:45 PM UTC
When I die
No one will mourn
There will be a funeral
Many will attend
mourning someone
That died when I was 10
The gravestone will be mistaken
About who I am
The people will weep
And mourn for long
But not for me
For they have it wrong
They will mourn the girl in the casket
A shell of who I once was
No one will mourn me
That is no lie
When I die they will mourn the shell
of a girl i once was
But the little boy inside
who’s always wanted to come out
No one will mourn him
Ace will be forgotten
He will be erased.
May 12, 2025
May 12, 2025 at 11:25 AM UTC
When you try to **** yourself
They lock you up
You’re a danger to yourself and others
“We’re here to help”
By helping they meant giving me medication
Till I am a zombie
No longer myself
But a shell of who I used to be
Why didn’t they notice all I needed was a hug
Not to be stuck
In these padded walls
“They are only here to help you”
But by helping they make me feel broken
I am not normal
I’ll never be normal
I am broken so bad
“Only we can fix you”
They says that they’ll fix me
But every time I feel
Less and less of whom I used to be
No worries in the world
Just dirt on our knees
But now we’re grown up
And there is no turning back to the way I used to be.
May 12, 2025
May 12, 2025 at 11:20 AM UTC
Simon Says
The game is easy
When Simon Says to do it you do
But if Simon didn’t say you don’t
Simple right?
Simon Says is a game of control
To train the children to do what their told
Simon says shut up and sit down
Stare ahead and don’t mutter a word
Take these notes about Romeo and Juliet
Because that’s more useful than teaching how to pay rent
The Game is a system
To keep you in line
Why are you tired?
Simon didn’t say you could be tired
Tired of the burnout
Tired of the relentless pressure
Simon says if you don’t do well you’ll fail in life
But it’s all just a game of Simon Says
Right?
May 9, 2025
May 9, 2025 at 12:34 PM UTC
Sometimes I snap back to reality
Smell my burning hopes killing me
And I cry when my eyes kiss the smoke
Of dreams and connections and plans I wrote
Suffocating in the fire I stroke
But death is warm and my fear is cold
I'm stuck, sinking into coals alone
Turning fifteen and
I miss my past
A wish won't last
I must keep on
Going running
I must accept
Your expectations
I have no passion
I have no mission
I take no action
Must I go on?
If uphill ends
Then maybe I’ll reach
The top no downs
A high I can keep
I don’t want to fall
I dont want to fade
I’ll give it my all
I’ll never fall
I’ll give it my all
Courage will call
I'll give it my all
I’ll give it…
It’s useless
My body fades and decays
Afraid, inside, anxious
I Stay
I wait and wait
I ask Self-hate to
Let me go
Away
This elastic band it’s my comfort zone
Snaps back around my throat
Let me go
Nov 3, 2024
Nov 3, 2024 at 9:26 AM UTC
You
Are the sole reason
That my dentist
Makes money.
Let me tell ya’
‘Cause I,
I’ve got your
Sugar in my veins
And tremors in my teeth
Chit-chattering your name
Safe between our sheets
It’s sweet like
Honey
Since our third date
You had my thread
Spread tenderly
On your table
Set with love
And grace
And there I was
Stitching my heart on a page
Tryna hide my baggage
On a shelf
Now
When I think of myself
I see a river
That’s got to learn
To go with the flow
So,
Send me a rhythm
For the drum beat
Beating in my chest
Let me
Carve our love
In the mountains
Mount every branch
With my beaten lungs
Tape my tongue
To your thighs
And hold my breath
Until we are
So alive
Until every
Hard workin’
Upstanding
Friendly neighborhood
Ant knows my name
So name me your soldier
I’ll fight for every piece of you
Love you like the war
Is finally over
Like winter
Is the only thing
That ain’t
Gonna come
Cause Your ****
Is like a tree
That just
It just
Keeps growing
On me
It takes my breath away
And breathes me back to life
You
Soaked my
Leaves autumn red
In your sunflower sunshine
You
Have rainy days
Warm like
Honey
Give me one room
To come home to
And I will
write you a garden
Full of poems
That I do not yet
Know how
To speak
‘Till your name
Is the sweetest
Word on my tongue
Calling you up like
Honey
Honey
Mmmm.
Nov 6, 2023
Nov 6, 2023 at 1:14 PM UTC
Who here loves *******
I mean, dogs
Obviously…
Immature people.
I love ***** shows.
Seeing them all groomed to perfection, not a hair out off place
A shame some cute faces will just go to waste.
While some may whine and some may resist,
If it’s not monetised, well… does it exist?
Lined up in a row
Look at them go
Praying and hoping to win best in show, just for a itty bitty wittle headpat, while the owner gets useful things like money.
Cause a dog can’t use money, that’s just silly
Nails perfectly trimmed
Intelligence dimmed
Watch how they walk with a little trot, so proud of themselves,
its like they forgot they only have the same rights as their owners in 6 countries.
But dogs don’t need equal working rights, that’s just silly
Look its absurd
When they whine all their words
Clogging up space with their frilly likes and their silly ums that totally like inconveniences like everyone because they have to um like listen to a ***** talk for um longer than they like totally like um have to like ***
But they aren’t so bad, especially when you’ve had
A ***** that wont behave, a ***** that’s gone mad
Howling at the moon with their wandering wombs
It’s like there’s no party, only balloons.
If a ***** wears pants, do they go on all fours
Or do they get sent home for showing more than their paws.
Gasp at how they growl, protecting their hairy bodies, which, silly them, they don’t own.
They must be culled
Anger dulled
Knock in their thick skulls they are nothing but a *****
We all love ***** shows, we love the ******* even more.
So come on ladies, get down on all fours.
Feb 23, 2022
Feb 23, 2022 at 4:37 PM UTC
Did you notice the crisis going on outside,
It’s terrible really they’re trying to hide
Atrocities behind a wall of big lies
The badness of this is incredibly sized.
So get out and help, you useless ****
Shout and whisper you absolute schmuck,
March and stamp and tiptoe around red tape,
Call it ****** harassment, but I wouldn’t call it ****
Donate and berate but most of all-
**** THE GOVERNMENT,
(Tenderly, like a lover, to not upset the way of things of course.)
Why aren’t you looking for missing kids
Why aren’t you crying at the dead body
Why aren’t you saying what Russia forbids
Why aren’t you crying at the dead body
Why aren’t you aching from every pore
Why aren’t you crying at the dead body
Why aren’t you saving all of the ******
Why aren’t you crying at the dead bodies
Why aren’t you giving your money to us?
Why, aren’t you someone the people can trust?
Did you notice the crisis going on within,
It’s terrible really, a huge massive din
Is crashing and smashing alone in your head
You can’t ever stop, unless you are dead.
Oh wait, you posted a brightly coloured infographic on your instagram story?
You’re good, never mind.
Feb 22, 2022
Feb 22, 2022 at 8:28 PM UTC
No no no no no no no
This can’t be happening again
It’s not allowed to happen
I thought this path was closed, bolted up and had broken away so we couldn’t come back
I don’t want this
I don’t want to cry again
I don’t want to see you in white one more time
I don’t want any more wrinkles on our faces or blood-red, tear-stained eyes
There are no more tears to make
Please don’t let it happen please no
No no no no
I don’t want you sick I don’t want you to go
I want you to watch me grow and maybe one day I’ll be a good mum
But I can’t do any of it if you’re not here
Don’t leave me please
Don’t leave me
Jun 7, 2021
Jun 7, 2021 at 10:50 PM UTC
If you were to ask me what boredom was, I’d tell you were boring and to stop asking stupid questions, but if you really persisted, I would tell you boredom is the tick tock on the white clock on the white wall of our English classroom.
it’s the thrill of seeing how many dried crackers you can cram into your mouth before your mouth becomes a cracked and dried desert. Boredom is
making up haikus,
Alone but not quite knowing,
How many syllables go on each line
Boredom is haikus.
Boredom is
the decapitation of innocent
grass blades as you listen to an unenthused sports teacher
the blood of your unwitting enemies splattered on your fingers.
Boredom is this boring poem
Now you were never one for boredom;
you enjoyed sitting on the grass, getting a soggy ***
you enjoyed the crunch of crackers snapping on your tongue,
you really enjoyed
and I still do not know why
making up haikus
you enjoyed the long languorous spaces between lines...
and I guess that really was just you.
But recently the silence has been getting short its rudely interrupted
by forced laughs and nervous glances from eyes that recently went shopping
You jump at every crunch or crack, scared of well…
I don’t know .
And your poetry,
Well, you barely write anymore because you just can’t seem to muster up the energy and you’re just tired and its nothing to worry about and it doesn’t matter anyway because you have an English essay due tomorrow yeah-
And the grass misses your ***
And I miss you
And there’s someone in your place, a lethargic parody, too frightened to pick up the phone, frightened by nothing at all
There’s a black hole in the shape of a friend
hidden behind the comets of comedy and asteroids of avoidance there’s a small hole
I reach in… grasping for a hand,
I catch glimpses. tufts of hair. old coffee smiles
but… nothing
so, I try again
I reach in, grasping for a hand, or even a bone
I catch glimpses of skin, hair, teeth, bone. Nothing
and each time I throw myself into the silent abyss,
batter past the comets and asteroids and reach into that dark expanse I find less and less,
I miss you
I am right outside,
whenever you’re ready to,
we can talk a bit
I’m trying my best ,
and I really care for you ,
but haikus are dumb
accept it, it’s true.
The spot of grass is waiting right where you left off,
the crackers in the tin are there just waiting to be scoffed.
if ever in that silence
you feel yourself alone
just know that in my house,
you’ve found yourself a home.
Feb 25, 2021
Feb 25, 2021 at 3:53 PM UTC