I Am A WriterI Am A Writer:I Am A Writer3 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word
Gentlemen, today I speak to you
To convey an issue that has plagued the core of our community.
For so long have we been considered second-class;
To this day there are those who still believe that we are not artists.
But today is not about freedom, today is about honour,
Because there are many writers that still seek to shame us all...
I speak of those individuals, who take art from others.
Covers, photos, paintings, digital art, anime and manga.
It matters not where you draw your source from,
But every action impacts upon us as a community.
BECAUSE I AM A WRITER!
When I craft my works, when I write each and every line,
I paint using expression; metaphors are my colours.
The words are my brush and each and every rhyme is my medium.
I do not ask to be considered an artist, but I do ask to be considered.
BECAUSE I AM A WRITER!
For someone who practices his craft day and night,
Painstakingly learning how to use each and ever
Monsters and DemonsI think I'm pretty,Monsters and Demons3 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word
Don’t even think that.
I think I'm thin,
But you’re actually fat.
I think my friends
No they don’t, they loathe you.
If fact, no one likes you!
Why are you so mean
I AM YOU!
I am the voice,
Inside your head,
That makes you scream.
I am the monster,
That crawls into your heart,
And gnaws on it,
Until you bleed.
Until you cut.
Until you swallow
The internals of your poisons,
Tiny pill by tiny pill.
Until you fall asleep,
But never wake up.
Then I am finally silent.
But yet you’ve ignore me.
Sometimes you have.
Some days you go on,
Like I am never the bit of fragment
Of the sick twisted imaginat
30 sad quotesSad Quotes30 sad quotes4 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word
~I don't run from you, I walk away slowly, and it kills me , 'cause you don't care enough to stop me.
~When you walk away, I count the steps that you take.
~"I love you" is eight letters long, but then again so is "bullshit".
~I wish I had saved all the tears you made me cry, so I could fucking drown you in them.
~Who do you turn to, when the only person in the world who can stop you from crying, is the one making you cry?
~I run in the rain, so that nobody can see my tears.
~Maybe when he broke my heart, he forgot I could feel.
~They say that loving you is my biggest mistake.
But how can it be wrong if it feels so right?
If I ever make a mistake,
It's not that I love you
It's thinking that someday you'll love me too.
~Giving up doesn't always mean you're weak, sometimes it just means that you're strong enough to let go.
~The saddest thing in the world, is loving someone who used to love you.
~Pain doesn't hurt when it's all you've ever felt.
~My heart was taken
Attention WhoreSo here I amAttention Whore2 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word
Trying to write a poem.
To find a purpose to it.
A profound message to speak upon.
In essence, I want to play Aristocrat
In this silly drama I call Deviant Art.
I’m trying too hard, I realize,
To make it work out.
I’m trying too hard, to pop off.
At some point,
It becomes less about the Art
But rather the attention you get from it.
There’s a game, I use to play when I was younger.
I would gather in a circle with my kindergarten class
And we’d all scream, “Look at me! Look at me!”
SelkieLover,Selkie5 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word
shed your skin and let me hide it
under my bones
and all these little
that are so normal,
so awfully normal
I know you would swim away,
drift like a thought
The limestone shores call out for you
(you'd fall through
the gaps in my hands)
So let me skin you, lover,
let me strip you bare
hide your skin so you wouldn't
If the Sea turns his back on you
if you wouldn't have a home
come to me, Unloved,
for my arms are
all for you.
I Am A TransmanI Am A Transman4 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word
I tuck and I bind,
I pack and I grind,
But still somehow
I cannot find
The man inside
He wants out,
Let him free!
But he knows what you
Expect him to be
So I try to exceed
What you think of me
And make you change
How your thinking sees
Just a girl with small boobs
and a sock in her pants
But that's not me
You're just in a trance
Society's made you
Feel what they feel
And think what they think
Until it's not real
To hope that someday
You'll be who you need
Who you want
Who you feel
You really should be.
So I write this story
In hopes you'll find
That I'm still me
Whether I bind
Or hold my head high
Or look like a man
Because I look past it;
I know that I can.
DreamersShe reminds me that she's a dreamerDreamers3 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word
Her right hand delicately grips a pencil
as she's working equations on a TI-89 with her left
She looks up at me and smiles,
and there are stars, meteors,
spanning across the cosmos of her expression
her countenance reminds me to look up at the chalkboard
that's attempting to teach me how
to make verses sing from pages in a plain 8 by 11 notebook
and I am only armed with
a .7 pencil and a purple pen,
stolen from my older sister's pencil pouch
My hands are inches away from hers
from the desks side by side
like cars parallel parked on a side road
her equations confuse me
until she flips the page
and shows me stories
filled with metaphors of the sky
reminding me that we are both here for the same thing:
I needed a reason to smile
She wanted a lesson in writing
She reminds me that I'm a dreamer
We exchange stories and poems like cigarettes
except the only price we pay is a small portion of our ego
when there are mistakes and flaws,
and we are gra
JourneyElevenJourney2 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word
I’m part of a local kids’ theatre group
I get all the lead roles;
I am confident.
I’m on registers for being
‘Gifted and Talented’;
My future is bright.
I’m not popular or pretty
But I’m too innocent;
I don’t see why it should matter.
I start high school.
My friend’s mum picks me up.
I get home.
She’s in the hospital.
They lie to me;
She has a
I believe them.
‘Ellie, I have cancer.’
I never trust anyone again.
I quit the theatre club.
Mum isn’t worse,
So I assume she’s
We go to Italy,
Me and her.
We have fun.
Yeah, she’s definitely getting better.
My mum can’t die;
In and out of hospital.
Living off of
Everyone acts like I know.
I don’t know anyth
dumb.i heard it first when i was four. the sentence—death sentence—what set medumb.1 month ago in Urban & Spoken Word
to shaping silence in my space to prove you wrong, when you asked:
"don't you know how dumb you sound?"
even now i carry the muscle memory. my teeth touched, my lips bit,
my mouth shut. inside me i kept myself, sitting shivah while the gibberish got clogged up
where teachers and toothpicks dared not tread. because of course i hadn't known,
and of course i would learn nothing, come monday morning
with me all full of weekend words, the problem
just kept getting worse. you all laughed then—as you would laugh now
—and the cycle began again.
for that was the echo i was doomed to repeat, you see, i had a mouth on me
like an oil spill, a voice that bent me backwards on the good days
and broke me open on the bad. it was my fault, of course, that my words were wired all weird,
so illegible i had to cut the edges off my teeth for anyone to listen. the syllables
just flew right through
DepressionTrapped in darkness,Depression7 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word
Like a tiny box closing in, choking me.
They call it nothing,
But we few sufferers call it depression,
A black gaping hole in our lives,
They call it attention seeking, we call it life
love letter to the state of florida1.love letter to the state of florida2 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word
i am not in love with you.
i left you when the leaves turned and i'm back for now,
but only 'til i muster the strength to hoist my bags & run away
believe me, it's not that you're not paradise,
because i've had my fair share of briny breezes & tequila sunrises
and i too have caught myself with my toes in the sand for a tad
blinding white is just too opaque for glass houses and you know
the way the sun shines at midday, that'll melt your face right off
if you stare long enough--
trust me, i know a guy.
last saturday i saw your face on the cover of a national geographic
at the doctor's office,
they caught you singing in the misty rain, voice sweet i remember
like honeysuckle & orange blossoms in the summertime,
there were strands of sargassum woven into your hair, it smelled of
fresh dew, it stole the sun in handfuls and waltzed with the wind
around your shoulder blades;
i found angels sleeping in the crook of your back, skin golden honey
opening to catch saltsp
Gummy bearsGummy bears3 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word
A, B, C, D, E, F, G...
Gummy bears are chasing me
One is red, one is blue
One's trying to steal my shoe
Now I'm running for my life
'cause the red one has a knife
She who destroys the lightfirst seedShe who destroys the light5 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word
Darling, you and I both know
in a better world I could be your Lethe
wrap around you, drown you
that ever tried to bring your fate down on you.
Still if I picked up the pieces
I'd hear their soft hum
the one shells moan for the sea
for even then there would be places in you
still not free.
Surely women must have learned by now
never to trust fruit.
A garden is a prison earned
and there is nothing satanic, nothing sacred
Yet when your body curls in on itself
seduced by not-seeds that need only thirst to root
you find your lips wet
and what might be blood or juice
becomes the same as sweat.
Your skin is singing
I swear, hymns to the colors
the way the world's ringing hurts your ears
the salt of the Dead Sea come alive in your tears
the smell only in the sky as the rain clears
the poppy-eyed bud people who spend years
walking around, faces turned toward the light
thrusting pomegranate crown
holding hands in a hospital.he calls it "continental drift."holding hands in a hospital.8 months ago in Urban & Spoken Word
flat stones stacked
into mausoleums that will seal him in
his sleep shakes,
countries falling to rubble;
his sleep is
a creature seldom seen,
its face etched in
he hasn't smiled in ages
but I remember it
the way I remember
and my own name,
god, how could I forget
those eyes, creased,
this human being
alive and breathing and
in my arms,
in my arms,
I have the luck of a
just to say that I can hold him
in my arms
here we are,
his body, my mind
in a tango, both
unaware of the other's steps,
and his fingers are feathers,
he's unaware of it,
I'm an invisible dance
and every second's
a bomb tattooed
on tired eyelids
pretty soon I'm gonna
final exhaust or
abandoned moth cocoon,
and I will never remember
how that apartment looks
or the way my children's names
will drop from my tongue
OtakuIt's not a cartoon, it's "Anime".Otaku4 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word
It's not a comic book, it's "Manga".
It's not homosexual, it's "Yaoi".
It's not lesbian, it's "Yuri".
It's not porn, it's "Hentai".
It's not erotic, it's "Ecchi".
It's not pedophile, it's "Lolicon".
It's not gay, it's "Shonen-ai".
It's not slutty, it's "Fan Service".
It's not costume, it's "Cosplay".
It's not a dating show, it's "Harem".
It's not a fetish, it's "Moe".
It's not a drawing, it's "Doujinshi".
It's not a bipolar girl, it's "Tsundere".
It's not a schizophrenic girl, it's "Yandere".
It's not sexual aberration, it's "Eroguro".
It's not a sex game, it's "Eroge".
It's not Chinese animation, it's "Japanimation".
I'm not a geek, I'm a "Otaku".
left on your answering machineListen, okay ?left on your answering machine5 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word
Close your eyes and listen.
Are they closed ?
Now keep them closed and picture me next to you:
I want to be with you so much. When you're with me, holding me in your arms, all I want to do is just stay like that, with you, forever. Then you leave. And as soon as you're gone, I miss you. And when I miss you, as pathetic as this sounds, I just keep thinking about you. And I realise that you could probably have anyone you want. And I wonder why you'd ever settle for me. And this makes angry and jealous and hate myself and just ugh. I don't want to be your burden. You see, whenever I talk to somebody as much as I talk to you, eventually they always get sick of me. Always.
But I can't ever blame anyone; I would hate me too if I were them. I mean, I know I'm annoying, but I don't do it purposefully. I hope I don't irritate you with my cynici
letters on leaving.i wrote my first suicide letter in 10th grade.letters on leaving.1 year ago in Urban & Spoken Word
they told me it didn't count if you felt like dying
unless you had it down on paper
like a vetoed birth certificate.
i've rewritten it enough times since
to realize i could never leave with a proper goodbye.
goodbye is too heavy a word for paper to hold
and i was never brave enough for the kind of courage it takes to tell them
why they weren't enough to keep me here.
but i'm finally learning a different kind of bravery-
the kind it takes to
i learned to wear death
like rope burn my junior year
my senior year we became friends
but i finally stopped cutting the insides of wrists
when i finally realized death never arrives on time,
i started smoking when i turned 18
to speed his arrival
because somedays, 15 less earth rotations around the sun sounds like a blessing.
2 years later I'm still learning to let the self destructive habits go
I stopped smoking again
threw the knife away and closed the toilet lid.
SilenceSilence.Silence3 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word
A language that everyone speaks.
But one that we are not able to hear.
A place where emotions and abandonment meet.
Of which we are forced to confront our buried fears.
There are no more lessons that the agents of society can teach.
An infinite amount of words expressed through a solitary tear.
People dish out advice but never practise what they preach.
A language with the same traits as a hopeful prayer.
A society where people judge others, as they sit back in their self proclaimed seats.
They can no longer understand you and they aware of the darkness that draws near.
Many lives led but we are all accompanied by the same drumbeat
Maybe you don't want to be heard but people will forcefully lend an ear.
Lips fused together, unint
la musica dulceheartbeats are psycho-la musica dulce4 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word
the ocean has swallowed
hay una guitarra bajo
mi almohada, y
sueño de música cuando
you came here with
city smoke in your lungs,
forgot to breathe.
Dear once lover.You stole my confidence; you took it like you owned it, you smothered it in neglect, and you threw it in the black hole of your absence.Dear once lover.3 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word
You used my patience; you smoked it like a drug, you took advantage of my presence, you evaporated us into nothing.
You decapitated our relationship; you cut it at the root, you shook out all the good, and threw the body into your subconscious.
You cut up my affections; you stored them in your selfishness, and turned them to dust.
You broke my heart. You took it in your hands, you tore it into two, it turned cold as ice, and you shattered it across my future with you.
You shocked me to the core, a surreality I long to never feel again. The abundance of my tears was enough to drown me, and suffocate me into an eternal river of agony –– that my memories of 'us' will float upon.
You deceived me beyond repair, I thought you would hold me through the hard times, instead you trampled on my pride, you flattened my hope, you destroyed the lov
How To Tell Your Family Good-Bye1. In your weakest, darkest moment decide you are ready for it all to end.How To Tell Your Family Good-Bye7 months ago in Urban & Spoken Word
Come to terms with your decision. You will likely feel much more at ease
once you've made the choice to leave this world.
2. You must somehow tell your family - biological or otherwise -
that despite their love, it just wasn't enough
to keep you going.
A note is probably the best way to do it;
short, sweet, simple.
You could write it by hand, that might be sentimental
but a word document will do in a pinch
(and it will help you avoid messy ink smudges if you're prone to crying.)
3. The people who will read this note are people who have loved you dearly, or maybe not so dearly.
Either way this is your last chance to let your voice be heard
your last chance to tell them how you feel
so make it good.
4. Write down all of your feelings.
Give them every reason, every thought, every accusation,
pour every ounce of hurt into your note so the ones that care
might be able to understand.
5. While you're reading over what
cherry treesi was born 4425 miles away from herecherry trees2 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word
in a country rich with history
that is starting to disappear.
to add insult to injury,
centuries-old castles are crumbling,
falling away like our citizens
and tragically few are stumbling,
not even a backwards glance.
me? i left over ten years ago,
an anniversary marked on the calendar,
a reminder to not look back, just go.
pretend there never was danger.
pretend that we all have a better life.
pretend that our hearts are here.
pretend this is the direction in which to steer.
pretend there is no resentment.
my mother left behind a doctorate,
my parents left behind a life of strife,
but we have no family here.
i've never heard my baby cousin laugh.
i grace funerals with my absence.
i don't know if my aunt's eyes
crinkle at the corners when she smiles.
my parents had to start anew,
and i know they thought this through,
but the weight of this sacrifice
weighs down upon my shoulders.
i am atlas, carrying foreign boulders,
and my muscles ache.