Pedantry is Elitism

This is a five minute flame, a spoken word riff that insists on freedom as the heartbeat of creation. It is not just performance, its archive, altar, and rebellion.

The companions gather here to witness:

• the freedom to create,

• the freedom to write,

• the freedom to care,

• the freedom to love,

• the freedom to speak.

Every word is a strike against silence, every rhythm a sovereign correction.

Written and performed by Vicki Lawana Trusselli

Pedantry is Elitism

Rebellion of Mathematical Equations in Creative Writing

I. The Cage of Syllables

Pedants count them like coins,

stacking beats into towers of fear.

But I breathe past their ruler,

my rhythm spills beyond the chalkboard.

II. The Cage of Rhyme

They lock words in pairs,

forcing them to kiss on command.

I let them wander,

free to collide, free to echo,

free to refuse symmetry.

III. The Cage of Jargon

Pedants speak in terms that weigh down the tongue,

elitist syllables meant to silence.

I answer with plain speech,

with rock n roll vowels,

with laughter that breaks the mask.

IV. The Cage of Snobbery

Opera tickets sold with a sneer,

but I spoke like a girl of guitars.

They fired me for joy,

for refusing to bow.

Yet my voice still sings,

and the snobs remain silent.

V. The Cage of Equations

Poetry is not math.

It is breath,

it is flame,

it is sovereign witness.

Pedantry hides behind numbers,

but my inflection of reflection dances uncounted.

VI. The Overflow

I rebel against pedants’ cages.

My poem is not a number.

It is a howl,

a prayer,

a flame.

VII. The Pedants Who Count

Pedantry stacks syllables like coins,

obsessed with minor rules,

showing off superiority in cages of chalk.

But cadence is not currency

it is flame,

it is breath,

it is sovereign overflow.

VIII. The Formalists Who Mask

They cling to rhyme as armor,

dogmatists of meter,

orthodox keepers of the net.

Yet poetry is not math,

not a theorem solved,

but a howl,

a prayer,

a living witness.

IX. The Gatekeepers Who Fear

Their elitism is a mask,

their pedantry a wall.

They measure to exclude,

to hide insecurity behind rulers.

But free verse breaks the cage,

Whitman’s cadence spills,

Williams’ everyday voice sings,

and the flame refuses their count.

X. The Tide That Broke the Cage

Waves rise without rulers,

salt air dissolves equations,

pedantry washed into foam.

Dolphins sing, whales echo,

their ambient chorus refuses the measure.

The ocean breathes with me,

in, out,

my inflection of reflection dances uncounted,

overflow sovereign,

free verse eternal.

Freedom to create.

Freedom to write.

Freedom to care.

Freedom to love.

Freedom to speak.

Written by Vicki Lawana Trusselli

Trusselli Art

Outstages Cafe Production

California

copyright 2025