I wrote this as a poem that was meant to be listened to rather than read for a poetry slam |
Words– What’s up with those things, man? You’re stumbling, fumbling But the walls just keep crumbling The audience is rumbling But you just keep mumbling then, those words, they come tumbling out of your mouth you can’t stop them rapid speaking just keep from freaking...out the words turn into thoughts that melt into actions and everywhere you look you see them teeming they say, “Actions speak louder than words,” but what if you’re screaming? i know you hear me but are you listening to the words? because words are never just words these letters mashed together making syllables and rhymes strung together in a line “let’s call it a sentence,” someone, somewhere, said. How do you make it a message? put a low next to a vuh and, somehow, you get love but love isn’t love it’s a word and we shove it down your throat telling you that god above is watching you is god just a word? a something we’ve all heard but it doesn’t serve any purpose. does it? but love is a feeling. it’s a freeing from your head it’s a being be love. give love. see love. live, laugh, breathe love. and, honey, i love you. does it mean the same thing if you keep repeating it to everyone you’re meeting and never really believing, it’s just easier than being the man in the mirror you’re seeing (I know the grammar is bad, but when I wrote this I was using lazy-high-school-student grammar, not conventional grammar because I was originally just going to read this outloud. I was debating whether or not I would put this poem on here, but I decided to because every time I read this in my head I say it exactly how I performed it at the poetry slam, and I wanted to know what it would be like to someone who had never heard it before. P.S. this wouldn't fit in my description, so I put it here.) |