To be Heard Slam Contest
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sometimes I wonder exactly where I'm going or what I'm doing or even will I be here tomorrow there's no promise and that scares me so bad and that one time I fell in front of all of my friends and they laughed and why am I so stupid they were ter
I write for the words,
for the thrill of letters pouring onto the page,
the power of creation,
of formation.
Constant pulsating masses,bring bile to a boil.
reality closes in,hot, salty acid blurrs into a trickle.
Repulsive pounding causes a sway,placid beauty is shaking.
Obscurity is present in the poet's verbose art, Ink stained fingers prove more than a swift hand, For beneath the elegant, intertwined ideas, Lies a bleeding heart beating out each command.
A hurtful past can break someone pretty good.
It can shatter them to pieces,
Creating a mean heart in a child
Destined to be misunderstood.
It can create a barrier to the world,
There is a river inside of me,
It always flows, impossibly deep
As it holds all I can be
My dreams, my passions, memories
The water is cold;
It chills my bones
No one knows where it flows,
In the greatest strings of logic, and the most concise and thought out stretches of time, where do I stand?
Continuity,
Four, five, six, three,
When I die, are bones all that are left of me?
Immortal,
I have memories of past lives sewn inside my brain
They come rushing at me in the night like an oncoming train.
In between sleep and awake is where I most feel at home
I drown in my thoughts--
