Slam Poem - Tumblr Posts
The Moon on Peter Pan
There once was a boy Made of starlight and pixie dust Who’s shadow leaked sunshine And eyes sparkled with liquid happiness Who’s smile was painted on in innocence There once was a boy Who Lady Fate decided to leave behind Who Father Time decided to patronize Who was too slow to outrun life And so decided to fly There once was a boy Who caught life’s attention Floating in the breeze And she became so infatuated with his determination That she demanded I part the seas And raise salvation for him There once was a boy And light loved him so Beams of sunlight kissed his skin And danced with him all day My children of moonshine tore themselves to ribbons and descend from their home in the sky
To hold and bathe him through the night There once was a boy Who never stopped running But could not stop childhood From melting off him as he did Leaving sticky honey footprints on the sand And an empty jar within him Who’s darkness was far from liquid There once was a boy Who wanted with everything he did not have left To remain that way Who’s shadow took residence within him On the days the light grew bored and stayed away There once was a boy Who held on to the rope of youth so tightly It left burns upon his hands Turned his palms callused and raw And left him breathless and aching There once was a boy Who never learned how to sew And so wore his clothes torn And his wounds open
There once was a boy Who thought he played hide and seek With Lady Life And did not know he was running From his own silhouette There once was a boy Who ran out of pixie dust And happy memories And time There once was a boy Who looked up at me at night And wept tears of sorrow no child should know And I could not wipe his tears And so he wept more There once was a boy Who begged to be held And so I called on my oceans to caress him Until at last, he let something in And they found solace within each other There once was a boy Who was barely a boy at all
Tears crystalize
Blood stains set
And Lady fate
And Father time
Lift me gently
Off my knees
And together
We leave the girl I was
In the past
And I do not look back
For I know she will not be able
To lift her head
To look after us
~Saturday Afternoon Reflections~
~Saturday Afternoon Reflections~
T.R.
Everything about this is violent
The waves of
Anger
Joy
Grief
Acceptance
Are all tsunamis
I haven't inhaled in weeks
All i know is water
All this air burns
But i cannot tell anymore
If drowing or breathing
Hurts more
Its just
So much pain
There is so much life left out there. Waiting for me. But how is one to wade through all these wasted moments, to get there?
~The Tragedy of Growing Up
“Pencils and Prayers. Pens and Promises.”
— What Did You Leave Me With
And it was me.
Who held me as I fell apart at 2 am.
And it was me.
Who hunted you down for the pieces of my heart that you had taken with you.
And it was me.
Who pulled me back from the brink.
Every. Time.
And it was me.
Who was there for me when no one else was.
And I may not have liked it.
But.
I was there.
It was me.
And it will always be.
love is only love at first, after that it becomes a convenience
and suddenly the fragility of life seems so much immanent. so much more tangible. than it did. even a moment ago. as though if i were to lay a hand on the frosted window pane of existence. it would shatter under the pressure. my breath pulled onto the cold breeze beyond. tugged farther and farther away from this candle lit room i once inhabited. and this revelation. all at once. thrills and terrifies me. and the only thing that keeps my itching fingers at my sides is the knowledge. that the wind has already led you farther than i will ever be able to catch up. so instead. i close my eyes and listen. as though you might still call out to me through the way the air catches the leaves and makes snow dance. that you might still reach me. and i might yet reach peace.
Time is a leaky bathroom faucet:
The one you always told guests you’d fix eventually. The one you always told yourself you’d find someone to fix eventually. And eventually...it just became part of a long list of things you were going to repair eventually. But just never seemed to get around to because--it just didn’t seem that important.
Until: the water bill arrived. And suddenly your leaky bathroom faucet has cost you more than you ever thought it could.
Until: you are lying in bed at night, listening to the steady drip...drip...drip...of a broken tap. Becoming more aware of every wasted drip...drip...drip...and suddenly you are overflowing. And suddenly you are sobbing over a broken bathroom faucet--
But: it is not broken, is it? Just...leaky. But: you are not mourning the dysfunction of your tap, but rather, of yourself. Why didn’t you fix it sooner? Why drip. Why drip. Why drip.
Time is leaky bathroom faucet.
The one the previous owners warned you about, but: you did not mind. You were simply thrilled to have your own house. Until: 3 am, 3 years later, you are listening to the steady drip of a million wasted drops. Of a million wasted moments, Envisioning the oceans they’d culminate.
Imagining how much better someone else might have used a glass, or puddle, or river, of that water. Of that time. Imagining how many lives a glass, or puddle, or river, of water--of time--could save.
Knowing that each droplet down that drain you are never getting back.
But: it is 3 am. And: you are drenched in exhaustion and double-dipped in ache and so you lay in bed. Fall asleep, to the steady drip drip drip lullaby of the leaky bathroom faucet. And promise: you will call the plumber tomorrow.
Throw back to about a year ago when we weren’t in quarantine and I was thriving kinda sorta <3
Preformed at my city’s first slam and came in second place…and met the mayor…and got a gift card to a book store…like– could it get any better?
I have not prayed for a while. But tonight I do.
Pray for repentance and Lives lost
For I am a murderer
A killer
A taker of life.
Today I plucked a bouquet of wild flowers. And claimed the slaughter was owed to a love of beautiful things and an appreciation of the simplistic intricacies of mother nature. Told myself I was leaving enough for the bumble bees and,
That this abundance
would not exist
if it did not want to be
Taken
From
And taken home. And have its withering corpse pressed flat and brittle and forgotten into the pages of a notebook. Plastered across photographs as though it's only job is to look pretty and not
to Bloom
and to live
And is that not so man of me
To be selfish enough to think that this beautiful and constantly perseveringly little miracle was meant for me and mine. And when she did not go peacefully, Refusing to yield to my hand and relinquish her place in the soil and attachment to her roots. I pulled her apart.
Snapped her in pieces.
Left the parts deemed unworthy severed in the dirt.
And carried her away. Broke a nail or 2 in the process and did nothing but chuckle at the fight she put up. And the resilience instilled in her.
As though that could stop me from taking what I wanted.
When I get home, I strip her, of her leaves. And cut her into palatable, Manageable pieces. Just the pretty parts. Lay her along a wire and tape her down alongside other already fading bodies not unlike her own.
Call it a Crown.
Where the statement on my head with pride without questioning what there is to be proud of. Celebrate the taming. Bask in the temporary beauty. Know that this thing is easily discardable when it finally disintegrates. Crush every bug and beetle and fly that crawls out of her wilting petals. Say:
it is not my fault.
They had the entire walk home to leave. They had an entire life to make somewhere else their home. They have invaded my home. I will protect it. I will kill you. And it will not be my fault.
Forget the fact that I displaced you. Forget the fact that I uprooted you. Forget the fact that you did nothing but exist where you always have. After all, Your flower made the same Mistake.
To exist.
On my path.
In the sunlight.
Practically begging to be seen.
To be Held.
To be plucked.
And I pray, Thinking of the corpses littering my living Room floor. Rotting away so far from home. Eternally trapped in the house of the one that slew them in their prime. Petals curling in on themselves. Wonder if I dare be the hypocrite who asks for mercy, When she awarded None. Pray if I crack open a window, Their souls may yet slip away and wander home.
But
even then,
Perhaps,
They ought to stay.
Perhaps,
I deserve the haunting.
I think I understand why they are called eyelashes now. As her lid comes down, And with it the whip. As I am beaten down with every bat of her eye. As every eyelash flutter bestows an open wound on the already scarred surface of my will and my want. Until I am bleeding out On my knees Before her. Begging for mercy. Begging for more. As she turns me into a masochist.
Lash
(Verb)
1. Strike (someone) with a whip or stick
(Noun)
2. An eyelash
There is so much life left out there. Waiting for me. But how is one to wade through all these wasted moments, to get there?
~The Tragedy of Growing Up
The most selfish thing I have ever done is forgive you. Stopped picking fights just to stab you with the parts of me you shattered.
You cry me symphonies but I have never had much of an ear for music. Our desire dripping on carpet; harmonies in dissonance.
I dye my blood your favorite colour before I slit my soul open but you still don't come to the funeral. I told you once that I had poems running in my veins for you and you tore me open as I slept and drank me dry.
I tell myself it is not your fault you do not know how to be loved. And how often it is lost on us that nightmares are dreams too.
~what a miracle it is to hate you now
I want to shout at every passing stranger
Every person who thinks they know me now
Do you know
That I was soft once?
That I had long hair and
A small body
And a heart that could have loved you
Do you know that
I could have loved you
Once
I wait for someone to tell me
That I’ve changed
But they do not
And I mourn for the loss of me alone
She will never get to fall in love
When I do, it will not be the same
When it ends it will be an Antarctic winter
Perpetual darkness
Night amongst night
It will be a small dead star long dead
The ones that fade forgotten
In the oblivion of space
She would have done so much better
Her heartbreak would have been spectacular
Would have been Tsunami and supernova
It would have been beautiful destruction and art
It would have been art
It would have birthed revolutions even in her misery
It would have meant something
And even in the absence
Of condolences
I know she did exist
I only ever wrote for you after our end
Which meant every poem tasted too much like an overripe obituary on the tongue
But when has guilt ever stopped me from doing something I shouldn't
What has poetry ever done but turn me selfish
Let me repaint everything in shades that complement the tale of my own tragedy
For what is the heartbreak of an artist
If not another poem the world could have done without
Another Fad
Always saying the same old shit that's been said before
Hard to live when inside there's a war
And outside there's a half baked revolution
Turned off and on like channels
Switching from mothers to fathers to vets
Who are we to think we know best?
Mr. President
Mr. President
Haven't you heard?
You're losing favor in the streets
Blockades with your faces on them
Bodies with your name on them
Government mercs just happy to get fed
Fed up by those that bleed orange not red
What can be said
About "Love thy neighbor"
When it's so hard to "love the self"
When we can't even afford things at the bottom shelf
Mr. President
Mr. President
Won't you feed us
Won't you hear what we have to discuss
Discussion to Discord
Look around at what you're in for
Nothing has changed
Nothing is new
Same in the 1880s as it is with you
White rich men control the world
It's hard to start a riot
When it's easy to be complacent
Because if you rebel you'll just be replaced, then
You will be ignored and beat
A fight for your life is just another fad
Who cares that there's another body
Another son, daughter, mother, father, sister, brother lost
When the pigs at the top justify the cost
For your lives and your livelihoods
It's hard to give when you never get
The weight that pushes you down is always set
To be more than you can take
How much more can you take?