am I too much for you? no, I’m not easy. don’t come to me for simple. you want that you’d best look somewhere else, dear i’ve got currents beneath my surface that will feel like ruthless riptides if you come too close without being ready to ride my waves i …
Giant Saint Everything | Sunday Slam {Buddy Wakefield}
Okay, so I’m a day late. But this one is worth it. Buddy Wakefield is a master. There is a point when tears don’t work to wash things away anymore. Grabbing for breath has now broken my fingers. I miss You so much some days that I beg for …
Uncommon Woman | Tara Hardy {Sunday Slam}
“For any woman who’s ever been told she’s too much: You, who broke out of the mold before they even cracked it off you. You, who came out inventing your own how-to-scale-a-wall with only vowels. You, who fireflash in the eye of so many midnights, so many men who want …
Maybe I Need You | Andrea Gibson {Slam Sunday}
“Love isn’t always magic. But if I offered my life to the magician, if I told her to cut me in half so tonight I could come to you whole and ask for you back would you listen? For this dark alley love song, for the winter we heated our home …
Love Poem Medley | Rudy Francisco {Slam Sunday}
“I loved you the same way that I learned how to ride a bike: Scared… but reckless with no training wheels or elbow pads so my scars can tell the story of how I fell for you. You see, I’m not really a love poet. But if I was I’d …
Plan B | Sarah Kay {Sunday Slam}
“But I know she will anyway, so instead I’ll always keep an extra supply of chocolate and rain boots nearby, because there is no heartbreak that chocolate can’t fix. Okay, there’s a few heartbreaks that chocolate can’t fix. But that’s what the rain boots are for. Because rain will wash …
Shake The Dust | Anis Mojgani {Sunday Slam}
It may be true that music can save your mortal soul, but it’s Spoken Word that has my heart. During the hungriest periods of my life, it has been poetry that fed me. First as a reader, consuming poem after poem like a starving woman. Rumi, Hafiz, Erica Jong, …
for all of this i honor you. {a new years poem}
For you, and for the lifetimes you’ve lived in one short year: For the endings, and the beginnings and all the spaces in between. For last year’s words and this years voice and for everything that must remain unsaid. For boldly speaking your truth and for all that you still …
you are still here: a poem to remind you
{Because there are times that the very force of your reality – the relentless pace, the depths of what has been won and lost and seen and done and of all that relies on you, the pressing weight that you feel when you first wake up in the morning and the inescapable pressure …
to be moved…
{I want to be moved} I want to be moved damn it. so move me move me make me feel push me past my resistance info that wide open space give me something beyond the ordinary beyond what you give to the rest of the world show me your naked …
you can’t take your eyes off of me
you can’t take your eyes off of me. can you? not now not here yes there have been plenty of days {there will always be plenty of days} where I am the forgettable wallflower turning myself almost inside out to keep you from seeing please don’t look but when …
bow down, and worship
{this one is for my witches. women of fire and ice. of spells and incantations. of fragile baddassery. of power and beauty. you know who you are. this one is for all of you. for at one point or another, I think you all will be the grace that …
breath. life. hope
{this life right now, it leaves me little time to do more than scrawl illegible lines in my journal, or fragments of thoughts on grocery receipts. there are words branding the deepest reaches of my soul – but this is a time for diving, not for surfacing. and so, i …
forever {or something like it}
I don’t believe in -forever- not the version I was sold perfect and pretty and tied with a bow placed (by request) on a pedestal to keep itself safe My forever is fleeting and flawed and humble in its inherent lack of promise it’s not easily subdued nor naive enough …
words :: revisited
{on my desk sits a black fabric journal. it is a plain, ordinary, nondescript book. from the outside, it looks as if it could not possibly hold anything important. only I know that it holds the most valuable thing I possess. my story.} 5.22.09 I’m in birthday party hell. I’m …
i will own it {revisited}
The creative drive. ‘Tis life force and relentless demon in equal measure. We artistic misfits cram ourselves into a culture is usually centered on new, better, different. What to create that has not yet created? What to do that is better than what has already been done? How to dig …
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