slam poetry
Slam poetry: that magical mix of rhythm and rhyme.
I hate myself sometimes
I hate myself sometimes, well, to be honest, most times. I despise the way I say what I feel; instead of think before I relay. I fucking loathe how my condition makes me feel this way. I spew hurtful things when I can't efficiently manage my emotions in a better way. Ergo, they end up saying to me, precisely what they think of me. Articulated with Spartan-like force in the most Achillean of tones, which cut so deeply, I felt the blood from the wound sting down to my bones.
By ©I.M. "That Girl," Inure Muse6 years ago in Poets
You're right...
Ok, you're right. I'm aware that I'm beautiful.Yes, my buttocks are firm, like an apple, and my titties are supple.I guarantee I can slip and slide all day on that shit and make the earth rumble.Granted, I know I am a challenge, sometimes, and occasionally grumble. I have survived some pretty fucked up rumbles and still, live to write poetically about it and not stumble.
By ©I.M. "That Girl," Inure Muse6 years ago in Poets
DayBreak
In the midst of this street to be, inside by my car. And, so free by my engine. That’s just to say, that it’s a good intention. At this invention of looking that way, she is my connection. And for a minute at this direction up above, and I see a glare. I’m soon to be physically, intact at my seat. Can I crawl out from under my feet, and I’m free to test my invention. The daybreak is at this stop, and up on top she stares down. And the light shines in my direction to steer to her perfection. Go that way I am near my injection. Because under the assistance of the stick could be a way to see I can crawl out my window, going to repeat over, and over again. Start my engine, it’s at this street and warm sweet. She is, under my skin. As she has taken it in. Climb out to be free tingles inside of me. Sober, living it up, at the stop, and go though, as it’s in my interest to be seduced. She is introducing my engine. Stop and go in that direction to feel the beat behind the seat. Baby buggy bumper in a rare occasion outside to the stop sign and time to stop the motor, extra hard core. Move over, rover and let he wheels take over. Beyond in thaw meat. Slider pitching a strike, hot dog!
By Paul Noel Cimino6 years ago in Poets
System of The Rhythm & things..
Money, money bills,bills & more bills than money That crystal bitch getting up in my face again - this world keeps on chewing me up just to spit me out. If you know you know but if you know where you should be and your not well you better get moving. Moving on and moving on up, step aside & get the fuck out of here!
By SundaySally 6 years ago in Poets
