spoken word poetry, what even.
Apr. 9th, 2011 04:46 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
gyzymRIGHT SO.
Tonight I shut down gmail and tumblr and LJ and went to go to sleep and wrote a spoken word poem instead! Which is strange to me, you know, because normally poems come to me and then I think about speaking them later, but whatever, this one wasn't like that, it had internal rhymes in it and everything, what the hell. So I finished it and then I went ahead and recorded it, in an LJ voicepost because I have no actual idea how anything other than the word processing software on my computer works. Recorded version is below, text of the poem is under the cut, and you know I think I might actually go to an open mic night somewhere and perform this one, but that might just be 5 AM talking.
Peace out, cool cats, it's bedtime now.
the beauty culture.
best professor i ever had stood tall at five foot four, taught jong with snickers bars and pop music while we all glanced toward the door, our eighteen year old half-minds still strung thick with thoughts of last night's bud light as if we might've learned something from that taste we didn't like
and she mades us watch disney with our eyes open, told us to take the path of the words less spoken and we unclipped girls from magazines and set them free, and they didn't look a thing like me, and she shook her head and then she said, the beauty culture.
and the thing is, at the time, mouth open eyes wide newly fucked and riding high on the way it felt inside i thought, yeah, screw the beauty culture. i took the things she said to me and hung them on the line, took me years to find again, rain-drenched, sun-dried, and i pulled them clear from clothespins creaking, felt a chill go down my spine at all that time that i'd spent thinking beauty was something you define.
you wanna talk about the beauty culture? fine.
first girl i ever loved made me read her bedtime stories, connection crackling between us as i unfolded little glorious tales of misadventure, words i'd never write, a worthwhile expense for the way she smiled when i met her in the airport, pulled me in and outta two cabs and through her dorm hall door and kissed me like we were dying, like we needed the same air, and shit there were things i said to her i never thought i'd share and by morning she was sick as hell and i didn't fucking care, because with circles underneath her eyes and a rat's nest for her hair she was…beautiful.
and the first guy i ever loved was a lot more mess than man--there are still things about him i'm never gonna understand, but he sure taught me quick the difference because i should and i can, and we went out and chased tornados in somebody's borrowed van the night i turned nineteen, hands dirty, noses clean, and i mapped out the distance between all the things we'd seen and it was…beautiful.
last time i looked a scale i was in the seventh grade, a small but obsessive member of the popularity parade, and i watched the other girls i knew drive themselves insane tryin' to look like women they were far too young to be. and you know all these years later those ladies still don't look like me? 'cause i've got pores, you see, places i don't like to show, a tattoo bright upon my back and only some folks know what it's like to see me newly fucked anymore, because i know enough about myself to keep that door closed until i'm sure, and ya know what i'm sure of changes but not what i'm looking for and that's something…beautiful.
so let's take the beauty culture and give it another name because i don't want something painful to sound anything like the same as what i call my proudest moments, the people i have loved and all of the components that make up the body i call home, let's call the beauty culture rome, and hope it falls and leaves behind a ruin for rebuilding, a new world, yours and mine.
Tonight I shut down gmail and tumblr and LJ and went to go to sleep and wrote a spoken word poem instead! Which is strange to me, you know, because normally poems come to me and then I think about speaking them later, but whatever, this one wasn't like that, it had internal rhymes in it and everything, what the hell. So I finished it and then I went ahead and recorded it, in an LJ voicepost because I have no actual idea how anything other than the word processing software on my computer works. Recorded version is below, text of the poem is under the cut, and you know I think I might actually go to an open mic night somewhere and perform this one, but that might just be 5 AM talking.
Peace out, cool cats, it's bedtime now.
the beauty culture.
best professor i ever had stood tall at five foot four, taught jong with snickers bars and pop music while we all glanced toward the door, our eighteen year old half-minds still strung thick with thoughts of last night's bud light as if we might've learned something from that taste we didn't like
and she mades us watch disney with our eyes open, told us to take the path of the words less spoken and we unclipped girls from magazines and set them free, and they didn't look a thing like me, and she shook her head and then she said, the beauty culture.
and the thing is, at the time, mouth open eyes wide newly fucked and riding high on the way it felt inside i thought, yeah, screw the beauty culture. i took the things she said to me and hung them on the line, took me years to find again, rain-drenched, sun-dried, and i pulled them clear from clothespins creaking, felt a chill go down my spine at all that time that i'd spent thinking beauty was something you define.
you wanna talk about the beauty culture? fine.
first girl i ever loved made me read her bedtime stories, connection crackling between us as i unfolded little glorious tales of misadventure, words i'd never write, a worthwhile expense for the way she smiled when i met her in the airport, pulled me in and outta two cabs and through her dorm hall door and kissed me like we were dying, like we needed the same air, and shit there were things i said to her i never thought i'd share and by morning she was sick as hell and i didn't fucking care, because with circles underneath her eyes and a rat's nest for her hair she was…beautiful.
and the first guy i ever loved was a lot more mess than man--there are still things about him i'm never gonna understand, but he sure taught me quick the difference because i should and i can, and we went out and chased tornados in somebody's borrowed van the night i turned nineteen, hands dirty, noses clean, and i mapped out the distance between all the things we'd seen and it was…beautiful.
last time i looked a scale i was in the seventh grade, a small but obsessive member of the popularity parade, and i watched the other girls i knew drive themselves insane tryin' to look like women they were far too young to be. and you know all these years later those ladies still don't look like me? 'cause i've got pores, you see, places i don't like to show, a tattoo bright upon my back and only some folks know what it's like to see me newly fucked anymore, because i know enough about myself to keep that door closed until i'm sure, and ya know what i'm sure of changes but not what i'm looking for and that's something…beautiful.
so let's take the beauty culture and give it another name because i don't want something painful to sound anything like the same as what i call my proudest moments, the people i have loved and all of the components that make up the body i call home, let's call the beauty culture rome, and hope it falls and leaves behind a ruin for rebuilding, a new world, yours and mine.
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no subject
Date: 2011-04-09 09:09 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-04-09 09:35 am (UTC)Oh wow. I'm glad you recorded that one for us, because it's definitely meant to be read aloud, with all the rushes and pauses in all the right places, and yes, I am loving those internal rhymes.
I love, love, love that last line: let's call the beauty culture rome, and hope it falls and leaves behind a ruin for rebuilding, a new world, yours and mine. GUH, it's powerful, I love the Rome metaphor, and also let's have a rousing HEAR, HEAR!!
no subject
Date: 2011-04-09 09:43 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-04-09 09:53 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-04-09 10:26 am (UTC)Your words make me feel things, miss. Please don't ever stop speaking or writing them.
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Date: 2011-04-09 11:22 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-04-09 11:36 am (UTC)♥
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Date: 2011-04-10 06:13 pm (UTC)It speaks to me, you know?
*hug*
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Date: 2011-04-11 04:23 am (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2011-04-12 07:39 am (UTC)