from def poetry
Wanna Hear A Poem
I wanna hear a poem
I wanna learn something
I didn’t know
I wanna say “YES” at the end
because I’m sick of saying “so?”
I wanna hear a poem
about who you are
and what you think
and why you slam
not a poem about my poem - cause I know who I am.
I wanna hear a
love poem a sad poem an I hate my dad poem
a dream poem an I’m not what I seem poem
an I need poem an I also bleed poem
an I’m alone poem an I can’t find my home poem
I just wanna hear a poem!
I wanna hear a poem about revolution,
about fists raised high
and hips twisting in a rumble
like a rumba.
I wanna follow
the footsteps of Ché
and hear the truth
about the day
the CIA killed Lumumba.
I wanna hear a poem about struggle,
so that
when I open my mouth
I can step outside myself.
I wanna listen to no less
than the sound of protest
in the factories
where workers sweat
and make Air Jordans
and Pro Keds.
Because
if you want to take shots at people
target Phil Knight and Bill Gates
contemplate
how they own the products
and they got the goods
how they act like they care
but they’re just Robbin’ Hoods.
And because every second matters
I wanna hear long poems
and short poems
about time and its limits
because it took less
than three minutes
to attack Abner Louima
to frame Assata Shakur
and destroy Hiroshima
to kill Eleanor Bumpers
and Anthony Baez
to gun down Malcolm
with bullets
they bought from the Feds.
I wanna hear a poem
where ideas
kiss similes so deeply
that
metaphors get jealous,
where the subject matters
so much
that adjectives start holding
pro-noun rallies at city hall.
Because I wanna hear a poem
That attacks the status quo
That attracts the claps
Of the cats with the
Phattest flows
That makes the crowd pass
The hat and pack my
Cap with a stack of dough
I wanna guess
your favorite color
then craft rhyme schemes
out of thin air.
I wanna hear a poem
about
why the statute of limitations for rape
Is only FIVE FUCKING YEARS!!!!!
I wanna hear a poem
I wanna feel a poem
I wanna taste a poem
Give me your spot on the mike
if you wanna waste a poem
I WANNA HEAR A POEM!!!!!
-Stephen Colman
Im that Used condom under ur bed that your mate found,
Im that last breath u take before u drown,
Im that raised manhole covered that gives u blowout from that pothole in ur hood that ur city knows about,
THEY CALL ME DRAMA!!!!!
Im that safety on that glock that determines life or death,
Im like high blood pressure, high cholesterol, fuck it, jus call me stress,
Im that last surviving sperm about to go head on with that egg,
Im the one that raped that monkey that start the egg pleague,
THEY CALL ME DRAMA!!!!!
Im that wooden baton when u got ur ass beat by the cops,
Im that MPV that stick up kids jumpin out to rob that spots,
Im that sweat that's trickling down ur cheecks like in "Who SHot Ya"?,
Im that quarter pound of weed under ur seat when the cops stop ya,
THEY CALL ME DRAMA!!!!!
Im that breathalizer test that test alcoholics,
Im that piece of shit that comes back after u flush the toilet,
Im that shit u take before u learned u ran out of tissue,
Im that cum stain on blouses left by government officials,
THEY CALL ME DRAMA!!!!!
Im that cold turkey when u got a dope dependency,
Im that bottle of pills when u got suicidal tendencies,
Im that bet u made when ur dumbass knew u had no money,
Im that roach crawling across ur TV screen everytime u got company,
THEY CALL ME DRAMA!!!!!
Im that hole in ur socks when ur trying on new sneakers,
Im that run in ur panty hose when women wanna be public speakers,
Im that slippery lane when chicks think they're too cute to bowl,
Im that telephone pole when young car theives lose control,
THEY CALL ME DRAMA!!!!!
I was that digi shirt collar infested with jerry curl drip,
I was that toilet bowl that u sat on masturbating when ur little sister walked in,
I was that closet that ur best friend came out of state and he was gay,
I was the red spot in them blue jeans when ur little girl forgot it was the 28th day,
THEY CALL ME DRAMA!!!!!
I was that piss u take after the 3rd day of being burnt,
Im them digi thongs when women didn't wanna wear no short ass skirts,
Im that cheese that didnt wanna melt on the baked macaroni,
Im that 10 year event u did cuz u didn't rattled on ur homie,
THEY CALL ME DRAMA!!!!!
Im that long island iced tea that got u the DUI charge,
Im that slipping transmission on bankrobbers getaway cars,
Im that cub on the curb watching the car theives spin out stealing it,
Im the reason New Jersey is not a Geico Insurance affiliate,
THEY CALL ME DRAMA!!!!
Im that 7 year old when u point was 6 in a game of craps,
Im that burning sensation ur girl gave "yo fuck it jus call me the claps",
Im that 300 pound freak talkin about "cmon baby let me get on top of ya",
Im the one u said ur cousin-in-law all the time, u know i was ur creepin partner,
THEY CALL ME DRAMA!!!!!
i was that peanut butter and jelly sandwich after school when there wasn't shit else to eat,
i was that digi skidmarks, shit stains on the fruit of the loom white briefs,
I was that sock shit that u put in ur hand that u cant afford gloves,
I was that bubbles that rolled up in ur back when u farted in the tub,
THEY CALL ME DRAMA!!!!!
-Flowmental
He says the problem with teachers is, "What's a kid going to learn
from someone who decided his best option in life was to become a teacher?"
He reminds the other dinner guests that it's true what they say about
teachers:
Those who can, do; those who can't, teach.
I decide to bite my tongue instead of his
and resist the temptation to remind the dinner guests
that it's also true what they say about lawyers.
Because we're eating, after all, and this is polite company.
"I mean, you¹re a teacher, Taylor," he says.
"Be honest. What do you make?"
And I wish he hadn't done that
(asked me to be honest)
because, you see, I have a policy
about honesty and ass-kicking:
if you ask for it, I have to let you have it.
You want to know what I make?
I make kids work harder than they ever thought they could.
I can make a C+ feel like a Congressional medal of honor
and an A- feel like a slap in the face.
How dare you waste my time with anything less than your very best.
I make kids sit through 40 minutes of study hall
in absolute silence. No, you may not work in groups.
No, you may not ask a question.
Why won't I let you get a drink of water?
Because you're not thirsty, you're bored, that's why.
I make parents tremble in fear when I call home:
I hope I haven't called at a bad time,
I just wanted to talk to you about something Billy said today.
Billy said, "Leave the kid alone. I still cry sometimes, don't you?"
And it was the noblest act of courage I have ever seen.
I make parents see their children for who they are
and what they can be.
You want to know what I make?
I make kids wonder,
I make them question.
I make them criticize.
I make them apologize and mean it.
I make them write.
I make them read, read, read.
I make them spell definitely beautiful, definitely beautiful, definitely
beautiful
over and over and over again until they will never misspell
either one of those words again.
I make them show all their work in math.
And hide it on their final drafts in English.
I make them understand that if you got this (brains)
then you follow this (heart) and if someone ever tries to judge you
by what you make, you give them this (the finger).
Let me break it down for you, so you know what I say is true:
I make a goddamn difference! What about you?
--Taylor Mali
I'm writing the poem that will change the world,
and it's Lily Wilson at my office door.
Lily Wilson, the recovering like addict,
the worst I've ever seen.
So bad the whole eighth grade
used to call her Like Lily Like Wilson.
Until I declared my class a like-free zone
and she could not speak for days.
And when she did, it was to say,
Mr. Mali, this is ... so hard.
Now I have to ... think before I ... say anything.
It's for your own good, Lily. Even if you don't, like ...
It.
I'm writing the poem that will change the world
while Lily writes a research paper about how gays
should not be allowed to adopt children.
I'm writing the poem that will change the world,
and it's Lily Wilson at my office door.
She's having trouble finding sources,
or rather ones that back her up:
They all argue in favor
of what I thought I was against.
And it took all four years of college,
three years of grad school,
and every incidental teaching experience I ever had
to let out only, So what are you going to do Lily?
I can't believe I'm saying this,
but I think I'd like ... to switch sides.
And I want to tell her to do more than just believe it,
but to enjoy it.
And that changing your mind is the best way
to make sure that you still have one.
Or even that minds are like parachutes:
that it doesn't matter how you pack them
so long as they open at the right time.
O God Lily, I want to say
You make me feel like a teacher
and who could ask to feel more than that?
I want to say all this, but only manage,
Lily, I am, like so impressed.
So I finally taught someone something,
namely, how to change their mind.
And I learned in the process that if I ever change the world
It will be one eighth grader at a time.
--Taylor Mali
tiptoeing through the used condoms
strewn on the piers
off the west side highway
sunset behind
the skyline of jersey
walking towards the water
with a fetus holding court in my gut
my body highjacked
my tits swollen and sore
the river has more colors at sunset
than my sock drawer ever dreamed of
i could wake up screaming sometimes
but i don't
i could step off the end of this pier but
i've got shit to do
and i've an appointment on tuesday
to shed uninvited blood and tissue
i'll miss you i say
to the river to the water
to the son or daughter
i thought better of
i could fall in love
with jersey at sunset
but i leave the view to the rats
and tiptoe back
--ani difranco
our father who art in a penthouse
sits in his 37th floor suite
and swivels to gaze down
at the city he made me in
he allows me to stand and
sollicit graffiti until
he needs the land i stand on
i in my darkened threshold
am pawing through my pockets
the receipts, the bus schedules
the matchbook phone numbers
the urgent napkin poems
all of which laundering has rendered
pulpy and strange
loose change and a key
ask me
go ahead, ask me if i care
i got the answer here
i wrote it down somewhere
i just gotta find it
i just gotta find it
somebody and their spraypaint got too close
somebody came on too heavy
now look at me made ugly
by the drooling letters
i was better off alone
ain't that the way it is
they don't know the first thing
but you don't know that
until they take the first swing
my fingers are red and swollen from the cold
i'm getting bold in my old age
so go ahead, try the door
it doesn't matter anymore
i know the weakhearted are strongwilled
and we are being kept alive
until we're killed
he's up there the ice
is clinking in his glass
i don't ask
i just empty my pockets and wait
it's not fate
it's just circumstance
I don't fool myself with romance
i just live
phone number to phone number
dusting them against my thighs
in the warmth of my pockets
which whisper history incessantly
asking me
where were you
i lower my eyes
wishing i could cry more
and care less,yes it's true,
i was trying to love someone again,
i was caught caring,
bearing weight
but i love this city, this state
this country is too large
and whoever's in charge up there
had better take the elevator down
and put more than change in our cup
or else we
are coming
up
--ani difranco
The stupid jerk I'm obsessed with
stands so close to me
I can feel his breath
on my neck
and smell
the way he would smell
if we slept together
because he is the stupid jerk I'm obsessed with
and that is his primary function in life
to be a stupid jerk I can obsess over
and to talk to that dingy bimbette blonde
as if he really wanted to hear about her
manicures and
pedicures and
New Age ritualistic enema cures and
truth be known, he probably does wanna hear about it
because he is the stupid jerk I'm obsessed with
and he's obsessed with doing anything he can
to lend fuel to my fire
he makes a point of standing
looking over my shoulder
when I'm talking to the guy who adores me
and would bark like a dog
and wave to strangers
if I asked him to bark like a dog
and wave to strangers
but I can't ask him to bark like a dog
or impersonate any kind of animal at all
cause I'm too busy
looking at the way the stupid jerk I'm obsessed with
has pants on that perfectly define his well-shaped ass
to the point where I'm thoroughly frantic
I'm just gonna go home
and stick my head in the oven
overdose on nutmeg and aspirin
and sit in the bathtub reading The Executioner's Song
and being completely confounded by the fact
that I can see
the stupid jerk I'm obsessed with's face
defining itself in the peeling plaster of the wall
grinning and winking
and I start to yell,
Get the hell out of there
You're just a figment of my imagination
Just get a life and get out of my plaster
and pass me the next painful situation please
but he just keeps on
grinning and winking
he's the stupid jerk I'm obsessed with
and he's mine
in my plaster
And frankly, I couldn't be happier.
-maggie estep
I want a love like me thinking of you thinking of me
thinking of you type love,
or me telling my friends more than I've ever admitted to myself
about how I feel about you type love,
or hating how jealous you are, but loving how much you
want me all to yourself type love,
or seeing how your first name just sounds so good next to my last name,
and shit, I wanted to see how far I could get without calling you,
and I barely made it out of my garage.
See, I want a love that makes me wait until she falls asleep
then wonder if she's dreaming about us being in love
type love,
or who loves the other more,
or what she's doing at this exact moment,
or slow dancing in the middle of our apartment to the music of our hearts, closing my eyes and imagining how a love like this could just hurt so much when she's not there.
Shit, I love not knowing where this love is headed type love.
And check this, I want to place those little post-it notes
all around the house so she never forgets how much I love her type love,
then not have enough ink in my pen to write
all there is to love about her type love.
Hope that I make her feel as good as she makes me feel, I want her to distract me from whatever
I'm doing type love
and I want to deal with my friends making fun of me the way
I made fun of them when they went through the same kind of love type love.
Only difference is this is one of those real love type loves.
And just like in high school, I want to spend hours on the phone with her not saying anything,
then fall asleep then wake up with her right next to me,
and smell her all up in my covers type love.
I want to try counting the ways I love her, and then
lose count in the middle just so that I have to start all
over again type love.
I want to celebrate one of those month anniversaries even
though they ain't really anniversaries, but doing it just
'cause it makes her happy type love.
And I want to break down the time we spend together into seconds just so it sounds like we
spend more time together type love.
And check this, I want to fall in love with the melody the
phone plays when her number is dialed into it type loves
and then talk to her until I lose my breathe, she leaves me breathless, but with the expanding of
my lungs I inhale all of her back into me.
I want a love that makes me need to change my cell phone calling plan to something that allows
me to talk to her longer
because, in all honesty, I want to avoid one of them high cell phone bill type loves.
I want a love that makes me regret how small my hands are -
I mean the lines on my palms don't give me enough time to love her as long as I'd like to type loves,
and I want a love that makes me st-st-st-stutter just thinking
about how strong this love is type love.
I want a love that makes me want to cut off all my hair -
well, maybe not all of the hair,
maybe just cut the split ends and trim my mustache, but
it will still be a symbol of how strong my love is for her.
And check this, I kinda feel comfortable now, so I can tell y'all this -
I even be fantasizing about walking out on a green light just dying to get hit by a car so I could lose my memory,
get transported to some third world country just to get treated and then somehow meet up again with you
so that I could fall in love with you in a different language to see if it still feels the same type love.
I want a love that's as unexplainable as she is, but I'm married, so she is going to be the one that
I share this love with.
--shihan