slam poetry

Slam poetry: that magical mix of rhythm and rhyme.

Blessed by the Devil
To whom do these words whirling round my mind stream from. A trickle of tip tongued sentences yet my vocals are tied, hands suffocating around tighten, and heartbeat panting. Do I speak the whispers that I hear and play part on societies stage, or do I seek solace in my own mind's eye. Silence can always be broken yet my silence is my choice, like my choice to live, my choice to create, my choice to believe, my choice to be different, my choice to not back down, but my choice not to give in and finally my choice to speak only words I want to say!
By OKO8 years ago in Poets
System Living
Here stands a man. “What’s your plan?” “To buy a house” ..be the mouse “Drink dry grouse” ..be that louse, stuck on its back
By Georgia Griffiths8 years ago in Poets
I Am
I don't know where to start I mean Where do I begin They made me feel like I was sin Because of my skin Trapped in twisted scripture
By Indigo Sōl8 years ago in Poets
Focusing on Text
I'm focusing on text A chance to flex My Complex Intellectual Textual Muscle Delivered through vocals My weapon of choice
By LA DLX8 years ago in Poets
Heavy Loads
I carried my mother upon my shoulders for so long, as a guideline of what I didn't want to be, a prime example of what life does
By Stephanie Lifton8 years ago in Poets
Walking Away
I have only thought of you fleetingly and with disgust over the years, as I remember you telling me that you loved me... then minutes later making me burst into tears.
By Stephanie Lifton8 years ago in Poets
That's What I Say
Fear no beer, that's what I say Fear is queer in its own mysterious way It is necessary when understood, but how do we ever, KNOW...?
By Tessa Elisabeth8 years ago in Poets
I Was Homeless
Shoes When my uncle got married, I had the coolest shoes. They were white, to go with my flower girl dress. They had a small heel to them, and the heels were hollow.
By Scarlett Raigh8 years ago in Poets
Worthy
Part your feet and cross your legs when you sit. Sit up straight with shoulders high to show you are not a flower to be plucked from the rosebed; but he will pluck you anyways and with your thorns, he will feel the regret in his chest. Your skin will rot and decay with every touch, leaving you without worth.
By Mica Harrington Gore8 years ago in Poets
Mess
"I am a mess” I say, more sure of it than before I was 22 And less sure of why. “I am a mess” I say, unapologetically, not seeking councel
By B Day8 years ago in Poets
Cliffsides
There are times when I feel like I’ve forgotten how to be human After disappointing dates and fall days so beautiful they hurt
By Isabel Siobhan8 years ago in Poets
Worth
How much does a life cost?!?! How much is a life worth!?!?! I see on my screens all the cool guys are killers. Make sure you keep your fancy toys,
By Wyld Tha Bard8 years ago in Poets