slam poetry

Slam poetry: that magical mix of rhythm and rhyme.

Great Things
See I'm destined for great things And I believe it wholeheartedly Or else I'd never grasp The writing a part of me A blessing, to some a gift
By Kenneth Davis7 years ago in Poets
Home
Memories: They flee her mind, But they sit like boulders in her chest. She’s waited 18 years for this moment. 18 years long years spent reading textbooks about everything from
By hannah irelan7 years ago in Poets
I'm Not Un-Fine Anymore
Why are you depressed? You have no reason to be. You have a home. You have food, and you have me. You have a father and siblings and a million reasons to be happy. So why make me bitter with your tears? Why remind me of my past years? Why make me question my parenting and the love I've given you? Was it not enough?
By Jasmin Rivas7 years ago in Poets
I Wish I Could Be Twenty Something // Salt Wounds+Midnight Blues
I wish I could be twenty something so I could be the right girl for you. Twenty two; the same age and be the white girlfriend
By Lauren Day7 years ago in Poets
Truth
Do not doubt what I know that I am about. Nothing will bring frustration to my soul than pain. It's truth that pain will start my gain.
By LaNesha "SoBetta" Stile7 years ago in Poets
Two-way Mirror
It must be fun. The act you play. You see social media these days lets you portray whatever false pretense you wish to present.
By Anxious Dilemmas7 years ago in Poets
It Crawls
It crawls out of the darkness and gazes at you with its dead white eyes. It licks its lips and grins at you with razor-sharp teeth.
By Kourtney Risher7 years ago in Poets
You're Under My Skin Again
The feeling I get when you’re Pressed up against me is like When you burn yourself on Purpose; the first few seconds Feel amazing, the sizzle of skin,
By Joseph Parkinson7 years ago in Poets
Cannonball Chrysalis
Some nights I still stare out of my Window from halfway across my Room, the worn down carpet still Imprinted with the soles of two pairs
By Joseph Parkinson7 years ago in Poets
Fire
I can feel it. Inside my body, like a pit in my stomach. What is it? It grows bigger, upward up my spine and across my shoulder blades and somehow at the same time it infects my chest.
By Katelyn K7 years ago in Poets
Six-Years-Old
I remember being 6-years-old and sharing not only a room, but a bed with my mother. Spending the cold winter nights in her dark warm arms.
By Dessy Marie7 years ago in Poets
Her
Her sun kissed skin smelled of daisies and vanilla perfume; her hair, threads of brown sugar silk; her lips, made of
By Sharon J Sanford7 years ago in Poets