Slam Poetry & What It's Done for Me:
For most, poetry is something your hear once in a while, maybe you've written a couple "Roses are red, violets are blue" poems in your lifetime. But for me, poetry is my lifeline. It is my absolute favorite form of creative expression, and I find that it is the most raw and genuine. I have been writing poetry since the age of 11, but it wasn't until I entered high school, that I really started getting into it. I took some poetry classes my freshman and sophmore year, but my junior year was when everything changed. I decided to compete in a local poetry slam that would change my life forever. It was my first time ever preforming in front of an audience. I nervously read my poem and didn't expect to win anything. Much to my surprise, I ended up taking home the second place prize. After that, I was asked to perform my poetry at the Wheeler Opera House in Aspen, and various other venues around the valley. Eventually I found myself performing on the main stage at Mountain Fair, The Crystal Palace in Aspen, and The Colorado Creative industries Keynote meeting. I competed in the same local slam this year, and took home a huge win of FIRST PLACE!!! I was beyond happy, and even a bit shocked. Poetry has been the catalyst for my truth and emotions. It is how I connect with others and with myself. Poetry has healed me in ways that medication never will. I will continue working in my poetry groups, and working on my craft. It is my hope that I can publish a book one day and share my words with the world :)
Here's a video of my big first place win at the Youth Poetry Slam in Carbondale 2016!!!!
Some of my recent poems:
Some Random Creative stuff from 2015
Some of my Art work....
I am not who you think I am.
I am not who you think I am.
I am not made up of hand shakes, smiles, and good first impressions.
I am not made up of obidience, yes sirs and no sirs.
I am not made up of late nights doing homework, or doing the dishes.
That is what I have to be.
I am made up of stories.
Everyone borrows a different book from the library that is me.
I am made up of the stars, cosmic nebulas bursting with thoughts and intelligence.
I am made up of brushstrokes and lines filled with words.
I am made up of never before seen treasures.
I am a crystal hidden by a bland shell.
I am made up of tears, smiles, witty remarks, and passive rebellion.
I am made up of secrets, and promises that I make to myself.
I am hidden and selective.
I choose what I show you depending on who you are.
The words I say come out of storybooks, and are never truly what I think.
I am fascinated by the person I hide away, but too comfortable with the person I display.
I am not made up of hand shakes, smiles, and good first impressions.
I am not made up of obidience, yes sirs and no sirs.
I am not made up of late nights doing homework, or doing the dishes.
That is what I have to be.
I am made up of stories.
Everyone borrows a different book from the library that is me.
I am made up of the stars, cosmic nebulas bursting with thoughts and intelligence.
I am made up of brushstrokes and lines filled with words.
I am made up of never before seen treasures.
I am a crystal hidden by a bland shell.
I am made up of tears, smiles, witty remarks, and passive rebellion.
I am made up of secrets, and promises that I make to myself.
I am hidden and selective.
I choose what I show you depending on who you are.
The words I say come out of storybooks, and are never truly what I think.
I am fascinated by the person I hide away, but too comfortable with the person I display.
You Slave.
You’re only as good as your regrets.
Or maybe you’re even lower.
You never knew that the cross you bore, would push you further down into your grave.
You’re so proud of the bed you’ve made, yet you refuse to sink in.
Well, it looks like the bankers, and the lawyers, and the I.R.S have ripped up the sheets.
But your dying mother’s last wish was for you to have your bed perfectly made.
It looks as though the company that owns you has broken the bed frame.
The little green man that runs your life has made you so broke that you can’t afford the air you breathe.
No bed, only plastic, concrete, and glass.
Plastic cubicles, concrete parking garages, and glass computer screens.
Plastic people, concrete blocks on your feet, and glass cases holding your true desires.
Do you see the life you’ve led?
Are you happy with what’s left?
Don’t cry when you see me put down the college applications for a paintbrush.
I’ll be a starving artist, but I won’t be starving for happiness.
You’ve dehumanized yourself, because of your wife named Greed.
I don’t want to be a C.E.O, or a lawyer, or a profeesional manipulator.
I want to be a human.
So while I’m counting my blessings, my memories, and my life expiriences, you can go count the money in your pocket.
You slave.
Or maybe you’re even lower.
You never knew that the cross you bore, would push you further down into your grave.
You’re so proud of the bed you’ve made, yet you refuse to sink in.
Well, it looks like the bankers, and the lawyers, and the I.R.S have ripped up the sheets.
But your dying mother’s last wish was for you to have your bed perfectly made.
It looks as though the company that owns you has broken the bed frame.
The little green man that runs your life has made you so broke that you can’t afford the air you breathe.
No bed, only plastic, concrete, and glass.
Plastic cubicles, concrete parking garages, and glass computer screens.
Plastic people, concrete blocks on your feet, and glass cases holding your true desires.
Do you see the life you’ve led?
Are you happy with what’s left?
Don’t cry when you see me put down the college applications for a paintbrush.
I’ll be a starving artist, but I won’t be starving for happiness.
You’ve dehumanized yourself, because of your wife named Greed.
I don’t want to be a C.E.O, or a lawyer, or a profeesional manipulator.
I want to be a human.
So while I’m counting my blessings, my memories, and my life expiriences, you can go count the money in your pocket.
You slave.
One of my many poems.......
She says that the sun saves her from her eternal misery.
The moon forgives her sins.
The stars heal the scars left on her soul.
But she fights me.
She says that I'm her cancer.
She pushes me into smaller and smaller cages.
But oh how she loves the rain, and hates my words.
She forces me to walk on eggshells, while she walks in fields filled with the people that she's got wrapped around her fingers.
I hunger, so she starves me all the more.
She walks on water, turns tears into wine, and uses people.
Welcome to the first day of the end of your life.
That's her lullaby.
She knows no bounds.
She is not deserving of the breeze in her hair.
I can only hope that she will purge me out and set me free.
The moon forgives her sins.
The stars heal the scars left on her soul.
But she fights me.
She says that I'm her cancer.
She pushes me into smaller and smaller cages.
But oh how she loves the rain, and hates my words.
She forces me to walk on eggshells, while she walks in fields filled with the people that she's got wrapped around her fingers.
I hunger, so she starves me all the more.
She walks on water, turns tears into wine, and uses people.
Welcome to the first day of the end of your life.
That's her lullaby.
She knows no bounds.
She is not deserving of the breeze in her hair.
I can only hope that she will purge me out and set me free.