slam poetry

Slam poetry: that magical mix of rhythm and rhyme.

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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 irelan8 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 Rivas8 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 Day8 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" Stile8 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 Dilemmas8 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 Risher8 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 Parkinson8 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 Parkinson8 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 K8 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 Marie8 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 Sanford8 years ago in Poets
Lost in Vocalization
Warning! If you are close to the one you love this poem may excite you to nymphomania. If you are taking any drugs that alter the senses, it is advised to wait three days as this poem is so hot it may cause severe hallucinations. And if you have a heart condition well you gone die anyway so look at this as dying on top of your fine ass woman during—well you figure it out!
By I AM. Master of Arts8 years ago in Poets