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March Poetry Slam

Damp pavement and glassy skies. The sun lingers later, evening walks become more frequent, cafe table/chair sets emerge and litter the sidewalks. Petals peek out of buds (as do smiles from kids and the elderly alike). Spring has sprung.

On a routine evening walk, en route to grab takeout Thai and a roll of CVS tp, you spot a cracked door, faint chatter and the hiss of steaming milk coming from within. You pop in, warmth and inspiring energy hitting you.

Welcome to the Messy Poetry Slam.

“Unity”

There’s so much going on right now, there always is I guess,

Things building up and up creates a pile of stress.

 

Dealing with this pressure, being young is hard to do,

Our futures are at stake, and we’re just not getting through.

 

Blame it on society, somewhere you’re trying to fit,

Try to escape from reality, not realising you’re it.

 

Fake press, fake news—the source of so much hate,

But it’s only fueled by you, and it isn’t leaving at this rate.

 

All in all, is it something we can fix on a global scale?

The brave have tried before, but protesters get sent to jail.

 

Because despite what you think there will always be a thin shield,

put up by divisions of power that protects them from this minefield.

 

Maybe there’s a chance for us all to find salvation,

Religion works for some, but others need an organisation.

 

A spark of hope for the future of this torn, crumbling community,

Crazy how easily people turn their backs on a chance of unity.

 

Opportunities come but not as quickly as they go,

You think you’re in the clear, you walk away and just say no.

 

Don’t want to handle problems because they aren’t within your range,

Guess it’s all about evolution, it’s a shame some people hate change.

 

Not us though, not the dreamers who can see a perfect world,

Day one we looked around and saw the future unfurled.

 

Knew that it would break if you continued going this way,

Gazing up at the sky and quietly praying for the day.

 

That you would open up your eyes and admit that you’ve been blind,

Then you’ll be able to leave your old habits behind.

 

The ways of corruption, abuse, injustice, discrimination, denial and greed,

When you admit your wicked ways—the starving flocks we then can feed.

 

Instead you feed the anger of those who follow lies,

Pretending you care, our vote and voice you hope to buy.

 

Pointing fingers at those who we all need you to befriend,

For the power lies in your hands only at the end.

 

Or does it, maybe we all have equal rights,

Recently they’ve been stripped and the future isn’t looking so bright.

 

Putting us down and claiming that feathers fill our heads,

Unbeknown to them, feathers are heavier than lead.

 

It can be a burden, looking at a picture and seeing it all,

Instead of the little pieces designed to make us feel small.

 

So many fall victim to the trap of thinking that they are worthless,

And so they follow blindly, lead like sheep into the mess.

 

Hard to break away because difference is portrayed as wrong,

Has the list of things that separate us always been this long?

 

Diversity, a thing they teach us is good when we’re at school,

But in the real world, how come those who accept have to be fools?

-India Armstrong (@Indiesummer1)

 

 

“6:13 Repetitions”

What’s the morning

What’s the night

I’m a morning person when I wake up

When I prepare myself a coffee

With milk and two spoons of sugar

When I go out on the street

And there’s just the common old man and me

When the birds start to chirp

Doesn’t matter if winter or spring

And when I listen to the same song

On repeat on repeat on repeat

On my way to school

I’m a night person

When I won’t go to bed just for the sake of watching the moonrise

When I walk the streets with my friends

Under the always-changing trees

When I just feel inspired

Right before I fall asleep

And when I can’t differentiate

When the morning starts

And the night flees

-Celia Sanchez

 

 

“Locks”

It is exquisite to hear

birds chirping, and

wind rustling through the branches and

leaves of the old oak tree.

 

The sun is beaming on the emerald grass

and into my bedroom.

It must be mid-afternoon now.

 

Warmth hits my body,

shielding me,

from the cold, harsh insides of my abode.

 

Keeping my window unlatched,

I connect with the unknown.

Because I am Rapunzel,

I never leave my tower.

But I should, before the seasons change.

-Tara Frawley

 

 

“Wicked Truth”

from time to time

it is often hard to notice

how deprived one can be

simply from a lack of understanding

that you are so desperate to find

imperfection in complete strangers

tell me, how awful is that?

attaching & manifesting

ideal traits to someone

forgetting the potential they have

stripping them from their mysteriousness

forcing a fate that could not even exist

onto this poor, poor stranger

it is one thing to have ideas & daydream of what could be

and it is another to make a massive something out of absolutely nothing

to be idealistic, it is my strength

to be too idealist, it is my weakness

people are not perfect

people will never be perfect

the concept of perfection does not exist

perfection can’t ever exist

the biggest obstacle i will endure

will not be from a bitter breakup with a lover

no no, it will be meeting those strangers

and never being anything past that

i am stuck in a space time continuum with aliens

never to form an understanding

of those around me

because i am living in a world that has yet to be discovered

-Sandra Anic

 

 

“The Week I Watched You Fade Away”

The week I watched you fade away,

i saw the colour drain from your skin

i saw the bones poking out of you as if they were trying to escape

replacing the space where your blanket, your warmth, your protection

was no longer.

i heard the tiny waves splash in your lungs

filling with the water you would drown in

 

i heard your breaths become farther and farther apart with each

inhale

and exhale

 

The week I watched you fade away,

I stepped on a scale

137 pounds. (the most space I have ever taken up)

and I felt grateful for my bones that were protected

warm, blanketed

yes, I felt grateful

for the flesh, the flush in my cheeks

 

this shell that holds my lungs and helps me breathe

in

and out

 

The week I watched you fade away

i realized

that if the voices in my head

tell me i should look more like the dead

i can silence them

 

if I just remember to breathe

in

and out

-Rachel Moore

S E N D   U S   Y O U R   P O E M S

MESSYSUBMISSIONS@GMAIL.COM

&

T A G   U S   I N   T H E M

INSTAGRAM: @THEMESSYHEADS

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6 Comments

  1. Anonymous says

    incredible.

    i would love to see a yt video comprised of submitted videos where the authors read their poems… that would be phenomenal, too

    Liked by 1 person

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