Poetry Slams

The Poetry Slams--

what an impact it makes,

cracks the ground and starts an earthquake.

Since Mary J. Blige showed me real love I

haven’t seen the likeness of fake.

The Poetry Slams

my door shut and I’m writing in my room alone,

my T.V remote cannot channel this pain

I sit here in aches and I groan,

But I’ve grown to show less emotion, and I

am aware it’s a sign of weakness--

you won’t know how victory soothes, ‘till

you feel the irritation of what defeat is.

The war is over, I put down the weapon

ink spills from the mic in my hand,

atomic bomb when I drop it

so strong try to stop it

you can feel the Poetry Slam.