I am not just a girl
I am amazing
I am not just a student
I am an innovator
I am not just a body
I am a person
I am not just a pair of lips and eyes
I am not just something for you to pass the time with
I am not just some fun
I am my own person
I am opinionated
I am worth something
I matter
I am not just anything
I am everything that I want to be
Sticks and stones
May break my bones
But words
will never
hurt me?
What if I told you
That every single one
of your words
Cut me like a knife
They shot through me
like bullets
What if I told you..
that your words haunt me to this day
And that when i look in the mirror
I hear them echo in my head
Time does not heal all wounds
It simply dulls the pain
Temporarily
But that pain comes back
It comes back with a vengeance
It comes banging on your door
When you have sunk to your knees
Head in your hands
As you scream “WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME?!”
It laughs in your face and proceeds to tell you
Everything that’s wrong
Too much acne, not enough makeup
Too skinny, you have no ass
I laugh
Yesterday I was too fat
Today I’m too skinny
I pick myself apart
Piece by piece
Your words don’t hurt?
What about when somebody
tries to compliment me
and I reject it
That doubt in the back of my head
“They must pity me”
Because it is that hard
for me to believe
that someone
finds me beautiful
Yet I’m still constantly seeking
Validation
You! You sir
Do you find me beautiful?!
Oh please sir
say im beautiful
I spent an hour this morning
Try to make myself pretty
Kind sir please tell me im pretty
*Laughter*
It doesn’t matter if I’m pretty
My soul is ugly
Beaten and bruised
Cut and scarred
from when I tried to
piece myself back together
I failed
For I have lost myself
I lost myself long ago
Trying to make myself
Into what you believe
Is a perfect woman
But of course I’m the idiot
Who believed that
Perfection was a standard
That could be met by any human being
So yes
Sticks and stones
May break my bones
But words..
Will cut me deeply.
The feeling of being
Trapped
Inside an invisible box
A box with mirrors
that only goes one way
You can see them
But they cant see you
“HELP!”
You scream
“HELP. CAN ANYBODY HELP ME?!”
You beg
But you are trapped
And the box begins to fill with water
The louder you try to scream
The more silent it sounds
You can only help but watch
As those around you
Continue to walk on
But you are stuck
The water fills the box
You go under
But wait
You’re breathing
You’re drowning but
You’re alive
Wide awake
Alert
You try to scream again
Bubbles
You bang on the walls of the box
“FREE ME. FREE ME!”
Your brain shouts
But if only this box
Were as fragile as your soul
You let go
No more fighting
No more screaming
You succumb to the darkness
You finally think the pain is over
But just as you breathe your last breath..
Oxygen
Bringing you back to life
You gasp for breath
Astonished
You were on dry land all along
This is what it’s like living with depression
Only that invisible box is your mind
And the one-way windows
are your eyes.
My perspective on love
Shattered
You were my safe place
Shattered
You were my person
Shattered
You were my morning kiss
Shattered
You were my prince
Shattered
You were my 3rd periods
my lunchtime date
my good night text
my late night call
SHATTERED
You were my welcoming eyes
Open arms
A loud contagious laugh
shattered
because..you were
My body is a temple
And you tell me that
You’ve come to worship it
You tell me that
You love me
But love doesn’t feel like
Bruised wrists and red eyes
Love isn’t screaming no
As your coarse lips press against
What you call
My caramel skin
You proceed
As if my desperate cries
Were an invitation
You proceed
Because you believe
You deserve it
You are not entitled to me
Just because you are drowning
In lust
My body is a temple
And I must guard it
On long walks home
With beady eyed men
Whistling at me
Like I’m some bitch on the street
Like i come on command
Obedient
I will not kneel before you
My body is a temple
I am the god who it was made for
I am the one who makes the rules
The only person I answer to
Is myself
The only person who is allowed to consent
Is me
My body is a temple
And you will not destroy it
An Open Letter to Harold Bloom
Dear Mr. Bloom,
Screw you.
In the Spring 2000 edition of the Paris Review
You were quoted saying “I can’t bear these accounts I read in the Times and elsewhere of these poetry slams, in which various young men and women in various late-spots are declaiming rant and nonsense at each other. The whole thing is judged by an applause meter which is actually not there, but might as well be. This isn’t even silly; it is the death of art.”
The question I have for you is, why?
What makes you entitled to declaring a form of poetry lesser
Who gave you the title of poetry master
Why do you believe it is nonsense and the
“Death of art”
To many people of all ages slam poetry is a release
A way of being
Expression
Slam poetry is releasing the pent up emotions in a beautiful form
Liberating yourself to an eager audience hanging on to the every word
That falls from your lips
Slam poetry is passion
Not bounded by the structure of traditional poetry
It’s taking a leap of faith
Bearing your soul to a crowd
And getting hooked on the high
Not just the applause, no sir
No
We are hooked on the rush
When someone thanks you
For putting into words the things they’ve been too afraid to say
When a stranger hugs you
When they tell you they’re proud of you
When you bring tears to eyes and smiles to face
That sir, is called connection
Maybe you’d know a thing or two about it
If you opened up your mind
And listened to the millions of people
Finding their voices
MadHatter Poetry 