Slam Piece

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Alright fine. I apologize for the blatant innuendo in my title. However, given the topic today, I felt like it was a clever play on words. I could not resist. With an evil grin and a giggle, let us continue.

Lately I have been entertaining the idea of entering a poetry slam. Generally the poetry I write is very short so I doubt I'd be able to fill three minutes of speaking time. And whenever I do write poetry, it's more often therapeutic. If I'm upset about something and don't understand what or why, a couple free writes with some rhymes and I begin to understand. So, as therapy sessions, they tend to take a dark and depressing turn.

...and frankly I hate that.

I'm not about to stand in front of a group of people for THREE minutes and, for lack of a better term, BITCH about my problems. Often times when people say they're depressed, dramatic, or emotional it's because they want people to know they're depressed, dramatic, or emotional. The whole "Woe is me" is just a facade for attention. The only time I enjoy Woe is Me is when I'm listening to the band. I have no need to proclaim to the public I'm distraught or ill at ease. The people that are close enough to me to care will notice and, together, we'll work through it. I don't need Facebook or Twitter.

Call me old fashioned but sometimes I feel like when it comes to drama rub some damn dirt in it and move on. Yes life is hard and yes sometimes we falter. So take care of yourself and keep moving. Growth never comes from planting your feet in your "miserable" state of mind and making sure everyone around you knows the extent of your misery. Take time to acknowledge your feelings and then fix it. Grow up. Move on. Get over it. "Constantly doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results is insanity." I feel like I got this quote from an article in the Onion but I can't remember.

So you can see why I'd be wary of entering a poetry slam. Often times I feel I'm a generally upbeat person in life because I work out my problems on paper. If I'm upset, I acknowledge how I'm feeling and why I'm feeling that way in a safe environment where no one has to listen to my naysaying..... Except perhaps my mom. I feel like the older I get the more often I call her about my problems. Anyways.. I approach my feelings the same way I approach my writing. I allow it to sit in my mind, gaining speed as I analyze the situation from all angles and perspectives. I dissect my actions, reactions, and emotions. And when the burden of my problem weighs too heavily on my mind, I write it down. That way I don't carry it around with me anymore. It's safely tucked away between the pages of a notebook.. Done. Gone. And I can revert to being myself.

I understand some people can't do that or have yet to find a safe outlet for expressing their problems. So instead they grasp at attention anyway they can. If that helps in their current state of mind and place in time, then at least it helps. At least you are receiving the release or the attention that you need to help ease your burden. Just know it's probably not healthy. And I'm sure it's not providing lasting comfort either. So work on your problems the best way you can. Take up gardening. Sew pajama pants. Knit cat sweaters. Turn off your mind and allow your body to take over. Sometimes all your mind needs is a quick session of auto-pilot to correct itself.

Now... for the irony. After much inner turmoil and rant rant ranting... I'm going to share with you a piece of the poem I started. A glimpse into my coping method in hopes that you will find your own. It started as a journey, if you will, to discovering my deeply embedded aversion to lying. Hate it. As tolerant as I can be, I can only take so much of lying before I self destruct. In all honesty, I would prefer an ugly truth to a pretty lie. Living my life through a facade put on by other people... nothing hurts me more. I also hurt for the person who feels the need to lie. Whatever they are covering up must be a heavy burden to carry. With that being said, as I was driving home with my mom, these few stanzas fell into my lap. Here's to raw and beautiful.


I live in fear of when your words turn black
Watching them fall into my lap
What am I suppose to do with these?
Your black words keep mocking me

So I cling to the truth within your eyes
There I go to escape the lies
Listening to your words of white
Knowing the blackness that comes with the night

There on your mouth the lies sit
And from your lips the poison drips
Coloring your words to the blackest of black
And once they're said we can never go back