buttonpoetry:

Cam Awkward-Rich - “Break-Up Letters” (Rustbelt 2014)

"How could you not be a prophet of your body? How could you stop saying it’s name?"

Performing during finals at the 2014 Rustbelt Regional Poetry Slam.

Originally from Button Poetry

goodpoets:

Caroline Harvey - Litany One: Between the Light

the first in an evolving multi-media series. crafted around the idea that a ritual is any habit made holy, this work documents ordinary activities in unexpected places, transforming the mundane into ceremony.

(all rights reserved Caroline Harvey 2014)

poem & performance: Caroline Harvey
harp: Maeve Gilchrist
video & editing: Jonathan Weiskopf
production & engineering: Will Lydgate
recorded at Steelgrass Recording Studio, Kauai HI

http://caroline-harvey.com
http://maevegilchristmusic.com
http://www.jonathanweiskopf.com
http://www.steelgrass.org

Originally from good pictures of good poets.

Take a lover that looks at you like maybe you are magic.

Marty McConnell, from her poem “Frida Kahlo to Marty McConnell” (via poemsbydes)

Originally from Desireé Dallagiacomo

buttonpoetry:

Melissa May - “Dear Ursula” (WoWPS 2014)

"You, big lady, were the only Disney character who ever looked like me. And while you may not have had the waist line of a princess, I’ll be goddamned if you didn’t have the swagger of a queen."

Performing during prelims at the 2014 Women of the World Poetry Slam. Melissa placed 7th overall in the tournament.

Originally from Button Poetry

buttonpoetry:

Mahogany L. Browne - “This…This” (WoWPS 2014)

"This woman that can’t forget how to kiss like shadows. How to smile like cryptkeepers. How to pray like a whisper."

Another poem from the 2014 Women of the World Poetry Slam! Mahogany L. Browne is the host and curator of the Nuyorican Poetry Slam.

Originally from Button Poetry

buttonpoetry:

Desireé Dallagiacomo - “Thighs” (WOWPS 2014)

"My thighs say: We don’t want your praise, man on the street corner… man in the parking garage… man in Walgreens while we’re buying tampons…"

Disappointed that you can’t make it to the Women of the World Poetry Slam Finals in Austin tonight? We can help! Our first video from the tournament!

Originally from Button Poetry

writtenbybeck:

body-posi:

"Too Big" by Beck Cooper (Performed at the Slam New Orleans Women of the Word 2014 Poetry Showcase) 

When he tells you that your body is not ideal,

That it is too big,
Do not hear this as a challenge

Swallow your tears and let the coursing wave of salt water force down the vomit,
Do not vomit

If the words “too big” echo loudly in your mind, 
be mean,
make them leave

Do not let him break you, do not concede,
you do not need him

Breathe

Ignore the voices that sing sweetly of shrinking,
I know what you’re thinking
Body heavy, body hideous, will never be loved

We’ve been here before Beck
Not the first time you’ve been too big,
We both know that this won’t be the last

This body knows too big
knows only one side of piggy back rides
Knows entire stores that don’t sell its size

This body knows inadequate
Knows that fat is the first thing you notice 

What it must be like to blow out a birthday candle or see a shooting star without imagining a life in a smaller body

This body
knows shame

Learned it the day it didn’t fit in the roller coaster
So you had to exit in front of everyone,
How It didn’t feel real 

You choked back tears and smiled
Assured friends you wanted them to stay on the ride
And as you sat down on the bench outside the exit
You made two promises to yourself:

1. Promise that this shame will not define you

2. Promise to skip dinner for the rest of the week

There’s always been two voices Beck,
Like a light switch that toggles between best friend and nemesis,
There’s usually no in between

You have a tendency to turn on yourself,
Could recall stories of playground bullies,
But no insults have been more violent than the words out of your own mouth   

Maybe it’s time you lay your fighting words to rest
I’m trying to be your own best friend, Beck

Breathe 

Fill your lungs with confidence you’ve earned,
Years of learning to love large body culminate in moments like these

You’d tell tearful friends that their beauty is not contingent on his opinion, That “too big” and “not ideal” are trademarks of a coward,
So walk the walk, Beck

Your body isn’t his ideal type of body
But pathetic has never been your ideal type of personality
And besides

You’ve no longer got the time to convince anyone that you’re worthy

When he tells you that your body is not ideal,
That it is too big,
Hear this as too strong, too boisterous, too powerful 

Pick yourself up, Beck
Pack up your bags, 

Walk away

Find a lover who wants you
to take up space

Thank you thank you for sharing this. I am absolutely honored. 

Source: body-posi

Originally from Bodies are Art; Art is Bodies

Dear, I want to be bird-boned,
evolve into flight. Eyes like beads,
talons grip branches; feathered.
Make me a nest of your body,
a safe place to roost.

Valerie Wetlaufer, “More Evidence for Dinosaur/Bird Link,” published in Animal (via bostonpoetryslam)

Originally from Boston Poetry Slam

This is not courage, this is trying to hold the moon because he is the only one without hands

And/or (Jeanann Verlee)

Originally from everything's going so well

Piano Lessons

internetlucy:

Liz’s ex boyfriend is coming to town soon
from across the ocean

“Should I be with him?” She asked me

and pointed out some of the problems:
“the debt”, “the crack”

I do a little French in the morning before I get distracted

So maybe I have not exactly turned into…

Source: internetlucy

Originally from lucy tiven internet identity

Here is the ending before the beginning:
I pick you out of my teeth like spinach.
I take a bath and I don’t think about drowning myself.
My sister spends the weekend at the apartment and
doesn’t ask me about it, even though she can see
that my teeth have gotten sharper since last time.
Your name is just a name.
I am still in one piece when I close the door.
I say “thank you for everything” and wipe my mouth.
You watch the Discovery Channel and see a lioness
lick her bloody paws after a kill.
You think of me and wonder if the grass was really so tall
that you couldn’t see me coming.
I am growing into something fierce and hungry.
When I kiss your skin, I am only trying to taste your bones.
Whatever is left of you, I hope it forgets me.

Caitlyn Siehl, "Prey" (via alonesomes)

YO

(via wordsfordays)

(via wordsfordays)

Source: alonesomes

Originally from YOU ARE NOT A CIRCUS

Richard Siken, “Detail of the Woods”

I looked at all the trees and didn’t know what to do.

A box made out of leaves.
What else was in the woods? A heart, closing. Nevertheless.

Everyone needs a place. It shouldn’t be inside of someone else.
I kept my mind on the moon. Cold moon, long nights moon.

From the landscape: a sense of scale.
From the dead: a sense of scale.

I turned my back on the story. A sense of superiority.
Everything casts a shadow.

Your body told me in a dream it’s never been afraid of anything.

(via renegadetongue)

Source: spittingwhys

Originally from swimming eyes

Again this morning my eyes woke up too close
to your eyes,

their almost green orbs
too heavy-lidded to really look back.

To wake up next to you
is ordinary. I do not even need to look at you

to see you.
But I do look. So when you come to me

in your opulent sadness, I see
you do not want me

to unbutton you
so I cannot do the one thing

I can do.
Now it is almost one a.m. I am still at my desk

and you are upstairs at your desk a staircase
away from me. Already it is years

of you a staircase
away from me. To be near you

and not near you
is ordinary.

You
are ordinary.

Still, how many afternoons have I spent
peeling blue paint from

our porch steps, peering above
hedgerows, the few parked cars for the first

glimpse of you. How many hours under
the overgrown, pink Camillas, thinking

the color was wrong for you, thinking
you’d appear

after my next
blink.

Soon you’ll come down the stairs
to tell me something. And I’ll say,

okay. Okay. I’ll say it
like that, say it just like

that, I’ll go on being
your never-enough.

It’s not the best in you
I long for. It’s when you’re noteless,

numb at the ends of my fingers, all is
all. I say it is.

Mary Szybist, “To You Again” (via renegadetongue)

Originally from comme un chaudron fêlé

I died in Korea from a shrapnel wound, and narcotics resurrected me. I died in 1960 from a prison sentence and poetry brought me back to life.

Etheridge Knight (via rodrickminor)

Originally from Rodrick Minor

In that foreign america, they must consider the dandelion a weed and not a bouquet of potential.

Hieu Nguyen