Not finished yet, but hopefully soon
I've recently gotten into slam poetry. This is a poem that I've been working on. It's not yet finished, but hopefully it'll be done in the next few days.
This may be my first poem
But it’s not my first time slamming
You see
My first time came in a circle.
The counter clockwise violent expression of the jud jud breakdown of our hatred.
But what do we hate?
I once asked myself
Why do we move with our left foot forward?
I thought.
And I thought.
And I thought.
And I came to a realization.
I had… an epiphany.
The machine
It moves left… to right… like the hands… of passing opportunity
A constant struggle to twist the bolt tighter and tighter and tighter
Until our hope for revolt can no longer breathe.
And until the only way to break the chains is with a can of WD May 1968
And an adjustable wrench wooden clog.
So we switch the direction
Evolving this devolving revolving door that wont stop spinning
Spinning like my mind after one too many drinks.
Spinning like my heart after you pulled its strings for the last time.
Spinning like my thumbs while they twiddle away the time spent between awake and asleep
And spinning like the cogs of a Celebration, Florida factory
Kept well lubricated by the blood, sweat, and tears of Haitian children
Unaware that there is anything
other than Mickey Mouse ears to hear the cries of their suffering
(there will be more here and will end with the below lines)
So we step with our left foot forward
Because this system that is broken
Refuses to be fixed.
This may be my first poem
But it’s not my first time slamming
You see
My first time came in a circle.
The counter clockwise violent expression of the jud jud breakdown of our hatred.
But what do we hate?
I once asked myself
Why do we move with our left foot forward?
I thought.
And I thought.
And I thought.
And I came to a realization.
I had… an epiphany.
The machine
It moves left… to right… like the hands… of passing opportunity
A constant struggle to twist the bolt tighter and tighter and tighter
Until our hope for revolt can no longer breathe.
And until the only way to break the chains is with a can of WD May 1968
And an adjustable wrench wooden clog.
So we switch the direction
Evolving this devolving revolving door that wont stop spinning
Spinning like my mind after one too many drinks.
Spinning like my heart after you pulled its strings for the last time.
Spinning like my thumbs while they twiddle away the time spent between awake and asleep
And spinning like the cogs of a Celebration, Florida factory
Kept well lubricated by the blood, sweat, and tears of Haitian children
Unaware that there is anything
other than Mickey Mouse ears to hear the cries of their suffering
(there will be more here and will end with the below lines)
So we step with our left foot forward
Because this system that is broken
Refuses to be fixed.