If I Could Slam Like The Poets

One of my greatest fears is reading my poetry in public. I've only done it once and even though the odds were great, I did not die, choke or pass out. I've been afraid, however, to do it again. In my book this tells me I must.

I've read a couple poets lately that included recordings in their blogs. This seemed like the next logical step on my road to total discomfort. Just click the link below to hear my recorded read, inspired by the ballsy women who slam.

I thought I could write

For they told me so

I even made them cry

No really them over there

There were tears

A few 

But you

Look at you

All up in our faces

Defending your races

With causes and vengeance

So intense, So Arresting

Political agendas openly protesting

Historical untruths your contesting

I hold my breath ingesting

Your well chosen words

Who like rounds from an automatic weapon

Sting my startled flesh into submission

Angry marching words

And I want to turn away from them

But they are followed by tender stanzas that

Lull me back in and

Lick my wounds

Half the time I’m lost to what

It is your even saying

But its sold in your intensity 

To apologize my propensity

For I’m ashamed at my ignorance

Ashamed for being Caucasian

Ashamed for being middle class

For having a life that was easy

Not perfect

But even stale, lets face it

White bread only gets

So hard

And I am ashamed because I’m a coward

And you are powerful

And you write about apartheid and genocide

And the closest I can get is suicide

You nearly rap about racism and sexism

And I haven’t an ism at all 

For I’m causeless

And you are vigilant

I am a cream puff

A pale pastry with no experience

No rape, or deportation, 

Starvation or molestation

No religious persecution

Not seeking retribution

But perhaps absolution 

For this poetic noise pollution

If I could only find the beat 

Then I could at least 

Be a cream puff

With attitude