I have a life! I promise!
So! I mentioned in my last post of some good news. Well, here goes.
I've been participating in Poetry Slams on campus lately. They have one every other week. In a Poetry Slam, there's usually between 10 and 15 poets. The top 5 make it to round 2. Most of the poets are usually upperclassmen who have been doing it for a while, but before the first slam this year, I hadn't done any. In the 5 slams I've participated in, I made it to the second round 4 times. I made 5th place twice, 4th place once, and in the most recent slam (the last one of the quarter) I made 2nd place. Now at each of these slams, the top two UCSC students who aren't already in finals get to go to finals. Meaning, I made it to finals! Finals are in February,and those who make it out of finals alive get a spot on the UCSC slam team. I kind of doubt I'll make it to the slam team, but nevertheless I'm so happy I made finals. I definitely didn't expect to make it this far or love it this much when I signed up on a whim at the first slam.
Anyway, I've posted all of my slam poems on my Deviant Art, the link to which can be found in the Links section of the sidebar or, if you're too lazy to look for it, right here: http://turkoizdog.deviantart.com/
Under the cut are the two poems that got me second place.
The first one's a wee bit sexual. :P
Nothing too explicit though
You woke up with bruises on your arm this morning
And you looked over at me,
Putting my bra back on,
And smiled.
Because for the first time,
I hit you hard enough.
Now our love is no picnic,
But it's not whips and chains either.
I call it Verbal Sadism,
Because with arguments like ours,
Who needs foreplay?
It's not something most people understand.
Most people think love is black or white,
Romantic or kinky,
Dominant or submissive.
But I want me some power struggle, baby,
Some gray area,
Because submissive people bore me.
I dunno if this makes me more sadistic
Or less
But I don't wanna hit someone
If they're just gonna sit there
And take it.
That's right.
Hit me back.
No, I'm not gonna break.
But with all the blue-gray badges
I've left on your skin,
I want you to leave some on mine.
I'll admit it.
Sometimes,
You make me want to scream
(In both ways)
And I'll watch your sleepy smile
And want to smother it
With lips or pillow, I don't care.
But I suppose every relationship has its consequences
And its strong points,
And you've gotta love the thorns
As much as the rose.
But you wanna know the best part?
We don't "fuck"
We don't "have sex"
We make love-hate
And wake up with satisfied smiled on our faces,
Because the think I love about you most
Is how much you hate me,
And the thing I hate about you most
Is how I can't stop loving you anyway.
You live your life in cylinders.
Beer and cigarettes.
Cans crushed on your head because, hey,
You don't have any brain cells left to kill.
Every time you light up, you remind me
"I just like watching things burn"
But every gasp of smoke that breaks loose from your pale lops
Is a bit of your soul that escapes.
And I want to catch it
And add it to my collection
Or stuff it back down your throat
Because at this rate
Soon
There'll be nothing left.
You taste like forest fires
And abusive fathers
And everything destructive,
Everything that takes down
What it took years to build up.
You're majestic.
You may smell like a trailer park,
But you look majestic,
Like one day you stepped outside
Threw back your head and cried
"Here I am world!
Accept me!"
Well... I did.
But it's hard
When you remind me
Of everything I've been trying to forget,
Like forest fires and abusive fathers,
And cylinders.
Crushed cylinders,
Crumpled and forgotten and lying on the ground,
Next to my pleas to please...
Stop.
But you're not a quitter,
Although in this case,
It's the quitters who win.
They win... me.
I've been participating in Poetry Slams on campus lately. They have one every other week. In a Poetry Slam, there's usually between 10 and 15 poets. The top 5 make it to round 2. Most of the poets are usually upperclassmen who have been doing it for a while, but before the first slam this year, I hadn't done any. In the 5 slams I've participated in, I made it to the second round 4 times. I made 5th place twice, 4th place once, and in the most recent slam (the last one of the quarter) I made 2nd place. Now at each of these slams, the top two UCSC students who aren't already in finals get to go to finals. Meaning, I made it to finals! Finals are in February,and those who make it out of finals alive get a spot on the UCSC slam team. I kind of doubt I'll make it to the slam team, but nevertheless I'm so happy I made finals. I definitely didn't expect to make it this far or love it this much when I signed up on a whim at the first slam.
Anyway, I've posted all of my slam poems on my Deviant Art, the link to which can be found in the Links section of the sidebar or, if you're too lazy to look for it, right here: http://turkoizdog.deviantart.com/
Under the cut are the two poems that got me second place.
The first one's a wee bit sexual. :P
Nothing too explicit though
You woke up with bruises on your arm this morning
And you looked over at me,
Putting my bra back on,
And smiled.
Because for the first time,
I hit you hard enough.
Now our love is no picnic,
But it's not whips and chains either.
I call it Verbal Sadism,
Because with arguments like ours,
Who needs foreplay?
It's not something most people understand.
Most people think love is black or white,
Romantic or kinky,
Dominant or submissive.
But I want me some power struggle, baby,
Some gray area,
Because submissive people bore me.
I dunno if this makes me more sadistic
Or less
But I don't wanna hit someone
If they're just gonna sit there
And take it.
That's right.
Hit me back.
No, I'm not gonna break.
But with all the blue-gray badges
I've left on your skin,
I want you to leave some on mine.
I'll admit it.
Sometimes,
You make me want to scream
(In both ways)
And I'll watch your sleepy smile
And want to smother it
With lips or pillow, I don't care.
But I suppose every relationship has its consequences
And its strong points,
And you've gotta love the thorns
As much as the rose.
But you wanna know the best part?
We don't "fuck"
We don't "have sex"
We make love-hate
And wake up with satisfied smiled on our faces,
Because the think I love about you most
Is how much you hate me,
And the thing I hate about you most
Is how I can't stop loving you anyway.
You live your life in cylinders.
Beer and cigarettes.
Cans crushed on your head because, hey,
You don't have any brain cells left to kill.
Every time you light up, you remind me
"I just like watching things burn"
But every gasp of smoke that breaks loose from your pale lops
Is a bit of your soul that escapes.
And I want to catch it
And add it to my collection
Or stuff it back down your throat
Because at this rate
Soon
There'll be nothing left.
You taste like forest fires
And abusive fathers
And everything destructive,
Everything that takes down
What it took years to build up.
You're majestic.
You may smell like a trailer park,
But you look majestic,
Like one day you stepped outside
Threw back your head and cried
"Here I am world!
Accept me!"
Well... I did.
But it's hard
When you remind me
Of everything I've been trying to forget,
Like forest fires and abusive fathers,
And cylinders.
Crushed cylinders,
Crumpled and forgotten and lying on the ground,
Next to my pleas to please...
Stop.
But you're not a quitter,
Although in this case,
It's the quitters who win.
They win... me.