The Poet's Masquerade

When I was young,

My mama slammed,

And I was forced to watch.

I didn’t like the garish sounds,

The way the words came out.

I didn’t like

The broken lights,

The shattered glass,

The screaming man.

But now that I

Have had a chance

To grow into my own,

I realize things

I never knew,

And thoughts

I never had.

Until I learned

To love the noise,

I never could quite grasp,

These voices slamming,

In the dark,

Are far from gone,

From past.

People scream

To be heard

And until we heed the voice,

It will sing,

And it will scream

And make us deaf inside.

But now I go to slams alone,

And wish my mom could see,

So I could say

Its okay,

To live your life this way.

The lilting sounds now call to me

And I am filled with hope.

As the man who used to scream at me,

Is starting to finally cope.

Its okay to slam,

To let it out,

To bring the whole house down.

For I was raised

In houses where

Words were currency

And if you knew

The perfect tone

It was possible for me

To get the things

My heart did want,

Just get the prose alright,

And mother dearest,

Heart on fire

Gave heedence to our sights.

I suppose that’s where my love first came

The dreadful apartment on sixth,

But since the day,

I learned to rhyme,

What music fills my head.

I think that I

Would speak iambic pentameter

‘Til the day I die,

if only that were a choice.

We used to pretend

That we were okay,

We hid behind our masks,

But then we quit,

We stopped the show,

We gave up our illusions.

And now we are here.

We’re here to hear,

We’re here to feel,

As others cannot do.

Until you write the broken words,

Get up, scream them out

I doubt that you can understand,

How much it hurts

To have that poem in your hand,

To shove the voices round.

I doubt you can understand

How much it hurts

To be a slam poet.