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Alize Michelet Jan 2017
I am Okay - A Slam Poem

I am okay.
Three simple words, such hypocrite words.
How are you?
You ask me, not even caring
not even knowing about who I am
what I am, how I feel.
How could you know?
I don’t blame you.
I don’t blame my eyes that can’t meet yours,
staring at the floor because I can’t lie to others
as much as I can lie to myself.

I am okay.
I answer, forcing a shaking little smile on a white crumbling face,
pinching my cheeks to make them look red
because red means life and life means joy.
I am okay.
I could be, but I’m not.

How could you know? Inside I’m
collapsing aching bending
withering, a flower in the winter
too tired to try to keep alive, fading
slowly falling onto the dry cold land.
But that you can’t see.
I am a knight, with a shining silver
fake smile on a pale perfect face and
my lies as a sword protecting me from words.

I am okay. But how could you know?
How could you not see?
My body is a facade that looks perfect to the eyes
but when you put a little pressure
with your trembling tempting hand,
cracks open, wounds show, black
dark blood runs cold out of the rifts
But you don’t even notice it because
who would pay attention to black blood
on a black floor, uniforming and blending,
it’s invisible unnoticeable
I don’t blame you.

Because after all I answered you,
with timid voice
and quiet eyes:
I am okay.
topacio Sep 2021
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
-Robert Frost

And so i waded at the fork
in the woods and recalled
these oft-repeated words,

i aimed my shoes to the left
for this was the road
that was undoubtedly
less traveled

but i hesitated and my thoughts
turned to "conformity" -
the merry subject
at poem's hand.

for although the thick
brush was denser
on this part of land,
i could at least understand

conforming for uncomformities
sake was in itself ..
a conformism,
and the real
unconformity was uniforming
yourself to you.
Michael W Noland Nov 2012
The zeros

Storm the forms adorned in the scorn of saints

Malformed in hate

headless in the taints of beasts

Beseech-ed

In the thrones of grief

Desynced

Inwardly seething the breeding of teething entities

Learning to breath in the bodies of butchers

Sent to me

Tempting me

As we may only, but gallantly trample the temples of turbulence, with the unrest of servants, tearing at the curtains of uncertainty

Certainly

Serenity's is to surrender to the satire of the cyclical rituals of daily habitual *******

Most of it

Will commit to auto correct

Show teeth and smile to the wild blue yonder, heaving bile in style, pondering the drugged and wordily wandering, of wedding rings, and how they are squandering the fonder things.

Fear mongering in mourning of the mornings.

uniforming

So the heart can sing

And I feel the abyss in all that is

Cannot dismiss the list of pits

In my gut

As i strut my luck

And wish

On the sick sedatives of my sicknesses

And in the shady masquerades of my accolades of disobedience.

Its killing you, even if you don't believe in it

— The End —