slam poetry

Slam poetry: that magical mix of rhythm and rhyme.

Deeper Than Rap
Dear black rap artist's of the game yes you the ones who sold your souls to inherit the fortune and fame You the ones whose lyrics are so toxic that it injects poison into my people's brain as you continue to deceive millions for a profit in order to establish a platform and name
By Latoia Dunn8 years ago in Poets
I'm a Whore
hi, I’m a whore but no, sex will never boost my self esteem as I constantly slope deeper into depression just because you think its my profession
By Ellie Belmonte9 years ago in Poets
Ace Over King
You say you're a fighter, Never to back down. You say you're the alpha male, Standing above all. You say you're Superman,
By Ashley Van Eck9 years ago in Poets
The Angry Black Girl
No, you cannot touch my hair, No, you cannot stare, I am not an animal in a zoo, But I’m often mistaken as one by you Mistaken as that loud, sassy, nappy haired black girl over there,
By Homebody Hippy9 years ago in Poets
Human Zoo
A dance of pink flamingo on a rope. Preposterous? Daw solving a math problem, Rabbit reading metaphysical books, Mouse boiling exquisite dishes,
By niki majchalajdu9 years ago in Poets
Dreams of the Rambling Mind
I. Consciousness and logic swim through the endless void, disconnected through disjointed synapses and chemical imbalances.
By Kourtney Risher9 years ago in Poets
Music, My Therapist
Some days I just bleed how I feel with music. Unable to voice my thoughts, the vocals and lyrics battle the voice or fog that resides in my head for the day. There is a deep connection with music that I can not explain. Light is shined on the issue at hand, to dissect it. Music just seems to say the right things that others sometimes don't say, whispering the demons for the day away. Like a best friend that knows you inside and out. There are no questions, no couch, and no office. It's just you and the music.
By Ryan Vrba9 years ago in Poets
Melanin
From the night in her skin to kink of her hair The sun in her smile to the stars in those eyes I know that Melanin is beautiful
By D'Nessa McDaniel9 years ago in Poets
We're Just Lines In Your Pockets
You point at us and laugh and say that we’re trash while you make cash from the blood of our sons, wash the stains from your hands, and sweep up the ash.
By Kourtney Risher9 years ago in Poets
The Unravelling
Unravel your discord of frustration which was meant for our cordial fruition. This has now been vexed a-side, b-side the sea side, inside a hollow shell of truthful slander and a damnation that is to be forever bound by this umbilical fixation of asphyxiation.
By Ryan Hooper9 years ago in Poets
Blood. Top Story - August 2017.
I bleed. It’s not quiet. Not a pitter-patter of summer raindrops on gossamer rooftops. It is not shy. It is a raging fire than burns through oppressive cloths that marks its territory with crimson coughs. It is a river that flows and flows and rests only for life to grow.
By Cicely Blain9 years ago in Poets
Shape-Shifter
Let's go in time To when you galloped on shooting stars Over open flame As I was choking on the fullness of your breath Because I was starving on the paragraphs swallowed
By Chelsea Carpenter9 years ago in Poets