Poetry Slams
The Poetry Slams--
what an impact it makes,
cracks the ground and starts an earthquake.
Since Mary J. Blige showed me real love I
haven’t seen the likeness of fake.
The Poetry Slams
my door shut and I’m writing in my room alone,
my T.V remote cannot channel this pain
I sit here in aches and I groan,
But I’ve grown to show less emotion, and I
am aware it’s a sign of weakness--
you won’t know how victory soothes, ‘till
you feel the irritation of what defeat is.
The war is over, I put down the weapon
ink spills from the mic in my hand,
atomic bomb when I drop it
so strong try to stop it
you can feel the Poetry Slam.