slam poetry

Slam poetry: that magical mix of rhythm and rhyme.

Tiny Blue
I have disconnected my connection to cope with this depression. I have abandoned my possessions as payments for learning lessons.
By Kale Sinclair5 years ago in Poets
Paradox
I like to call myself a paradox Kind eyes with the grin of a fox An enigma, oddity, contradiction Short attention span, paired with a habit of addiction
By Amanda Mitchell5 years ago in Poets
Patriotic
I was walking on a gentle breeze day and saw a man wearing " I stand for the flag" shirt like him I wish I was that proud of my country but
By Sharieff Clark5 years ago in Poets
Gold
Are filters needed when voicing truth in a world living in black-and-white? Just to clown your creations and hate you out of spite while the
By Nicole West 5 years ago in Poets
My Color Palette
There are some mornings where, I wish I didn’t wake And I Look into the mirror, and there I see, This odd little stain looking back at me
By KARPE5 years ago in Poets
What is Brown?
What is brown? When the children say “My favorite color is-” Who says brown? On the spectrum of light of the rainbow
By Jonathan Mathew5 years ago in Poets
My Colors
My colors, My colors, Oh my colors, My colors are beautiful, Not just pretty,but beautiful, My colors are a beauty standard;
By Erica Williams5 years ago in Poets
Color
Red like the fire energy I am filled with Orange like the sweetness I am Yellow like the happiness I bring Green like the money I make
By Mars5 years ago in Poets
Underneath
If you peeled back the freckled skin, stripped away the flesh, unfiltered the voice,
By Francesca Mintowt-Czyz5 years ago in Poets
‏The image we have of ourselves
Am I a scumbag? Am I a holy woman? Have I repented anywhere? Am I a lost follower? Am I waiting for a bastard? Am I a tired plain gypsy? Am I a child? Am I a Daughter? Am I a Wife? Am I a doll? Am I a toy of the hidden hands of the time?
By Roya Barati5 years ago in Poets
camphor
single digits– lilac walls the only girl on the basketball team I mean, I preferred softball teeming with girls and port-o-potties
By 5 years ago in Poets
Explosion of Happiness
My soul may be dark, Darker than a pitch black kind What else can that be called? Other than an extreme measure Of a scary placement of trouble
By Keanna Barry 5 years ago in Poets