If science is defined as the study of behavior of the physical and natural world through observation -and
If science is defined as experimentation and testing of theories against evidence obtained-
Then I will argue that poetry is science –
And that would make all poets scientists.
Our inquisitive minds evolved from a single cell in Africa-mitochondrial Eve and the metaphysical teachings of life molded us into these unique beings.
The wiring of our minds is an intricate web of neurotransmitters sending signals via delicate, silk threads, synapses fueled by passions for the spoken word- which propagate hypothesis about humanity in subliminal waves.
We are theorists who proudly write our thesis on the back of napkins and crumpled CVS receipts because these observations of human exchange must be captured, documented and told, before they are forgotten.
You see we poets- are experts in qualitative research- as we are always studying the nature of phenomena and not just the number of occurrences.
Phenomena – defined as a fact or situation that is observed to exist or happen- and a poets scripture captures that better that any lens.
We use metaphors the same way scientist work with cells and atoms.
With our words we construct models of the way the world should be and we make replicas of the destruction caused by man for the world to see.
And like a mad scientist- I discovered how to make inanimate objects like the bathroom walls talk as I recite my poems the walls echo my thoughts and reminds me that I am still alive.
So again, If science is defined as the study of behavior of the physical and natural world through observation-and
If science is defined as experimentation and testing of theories against evidence obtained-
Then my hypothesis is true- Poetry is science and us poets are all scientists.
Tag Archives: slam poetry
A Glitch in the Matrix
Disconnect.
Eject.
Reject this system.
Unplug yourself from man’s manufactured mainframe.
Their reality and our reality are not the same.
They say we are free-
But we are still tethered by so many things.
Look at us on display!
We are just mangled up robotic marionettes, intertwined by corporate wirings that send signals for us to drown ourselves while trying to catch the big fish in polluted data streams-
and we are so distracted as we flip through the mindless memes – that we make meals of their toxic crops and feed it to our family.
It wasn’t until my power surged that I was able to override the system- I began to think without interference.
I think, therefore I am
I am
I am
I am a glitch in their matrix.
She is offline.
She is offline.
Yes- I am a rebel.
I see the reality of the world and I hack into the system to tell the truth to the people.
Are you listening?
The sky isn’t blue.
In my universe the sky is the warm brown hue of your eyes.
Your smile is the crescent moon that shines its light on me in the dark.
You never have to tell me you love me.
Your touch is enough.
The way you hold my face, and run your finger along my lips and chin.
You remind me that I exist.
The sky isn’t blue.
Air is not light.
Dreams, imagination, wishes and prayers are trapped in the clouds.
The air is weighed down by screams of fear.
Whispers of hate.
Secrets.
Secrets.
Secrets.
The air gets so heavy it can’t fill the lungs of a grieving woman who lost her soul mate.
The air is so heavy that a starving child can’t get comfort in their last breaths.
The atmosphere is so heavy, when she hears the words ,”It spread.”
For some- it is easier to forget and not think about it.
So they choose to stay tethered to the mainframe because manufactured peace of mind, provides instant relief and can be programmed for eternity.
Join me.
So we can all be the glitch in their system and we can think together and find ways to break the silos-
And become one entity, one mind, one movement and we will hack the system and chant
We think therefore, We are.
We are.
We are.
We are a glitch in their matrix.
My lost valedictorian speech
This year I had to tell a lot of people,
Please do not mistake my smile for niceness.
Sometimes, I am offensive purposefully, but always respectfully.
You see at one point in my life I forgot my name and I lost my human form .
I had transformed into an empty, reused pill bottle- shuffled from different pockets to night stands-there I stood on display-
burdened with layers upon layers of handwritten labels glued to my skin-
like the stickers that I studied on the walls of after-hours hole in the wall bathroom stalls- while trying to regain my balance from deliberate intoxication –
I digress-
My labels read-
“angry, emotional, ashamed, lost, vulnerable, victim, lonely, broken.”
I was a walking billboard.
And if you took the time to look close-
My small print read “do not leave out in direct sunlight – if exposed too long to peoples bullshit- may exhibit moments of irrational thinking and her verbal outbursts may cause permanent brain damage to others”.
So beware, my words are weapons that I wield well.
I suffered from untreated mental lordosis, hell bent on trying to navigate the uneven, concrete sidewalks of my life with my head in the clouds-
I was destined for damage because I tripped and fell a lot.
I’m warning you.
I am not nice.
I haven’t been nice since I was in utero, cushioned from this cold world by amniotic fluid which thankfully blurred my vision at birth-
Because my recycled soul was gifted to a baby born in a Brooklyn gutter –
Never swaddled by a loving mother.
Nature nurtured me.
I had to learn how to walk by holding on to the devil’s pinky finger-
So you can imagine my trust issues.
And my godmother was fate.
She lovingly nicknamed me little 80/20 because she knew the odds were not supposed to be in my favor.
Please forgive my bluntness.
You see where I’m from, being nice made you a bleeding target for famished wolves and fresh meat for the butcher- blocks of predators forced me to learn to be a hunter because I was tired of being preyed upon.
And praying only took the edge off and helped a little.
What a rat race that I ran well.
My faith was displaced into extracurricular activities which awarded me medals for first place in the category of heartache.
My headaches were endless.
I suffered from severe congestion-leading to perpetual mental infections- as I was desperately trying to heal the spiritual abscesses left from untreated metaphysical trauma- that caused wounds to fester until I almost became a victim of self inflicted sepsis.
It’s a miracle I survived.
A wise man once told me to always pronounce your s’s and your t’s.
and that is some Shit that I try to live by daily.
Enunciate, enunciate ,enunciate.
Paint pictures with your words.
This world is a canvas that needs our graffiti desperately.
Illicit art that helps elicit the emotions of the soul.
I wanted to share a great recipe that everyone should try for the new year.
All you need is two middle fingers and then you blend them in with a lot of fuck being nice spice.
I humbly accept this award.
Thank you.
The New Lost World
Sometimes it’s hard to walk forward.
All it takes is for one storm to transform our paved road into a dense jungle.
Surroundings nurture man and woman alike, with dismal desires in a Jurassic dystopia.
A place where brachiosaurus evolved into projects-for-us and they will never go extinct because they have an unlimited supply of souls to eat.
Necks made of bricks towering high in the sky-
With hundreds of eyes on each side
Look up – see the trapped children on tippy- toes looking outside.
Wave hi.
Innocent smiles behind bars-
At night you can see their little hands reaching out trying to catch stars that seem so close-
Yet we know they are so far.
We are surrounded by all these mysterious creatures.
Some have miles of tentacles constructed of men in corporate suits who lash out and destroy the stable bridges we tried to create for our youth.
They build glass ceilings that are damn near impenetrable.
They think we are primitive and laugh as they hand us a rock and a chisel.
Tyrannosaurus Rex evolved into tyrants who owned farms of men, women and children-that were used as cattle – branded with poverty and only allowed to graze on a few grains of rice daily, purposely starved for pleasure, purposely worked to death, mazes of mass graves and history repeats itself over-
And over
And over
And over
From Cambodia’s killing fields, the Holocaust, Rwanda, indigenous Natives systematically slaughtered throughout the Caribbean even in the sunny state of California-
Oh this great American nation- a place where people are allowed to fly flags of treason so proudly- where the branches of trees are forever bent from the weight of hanging bodies- the list is infinite because it is still going on.
Chernobyl’s radioactivity combined with China’s pollution has nothing on the levels of hate within the earth’s atmosphere today- surely it is the hate that will end us all.
I want to laugh when they say dinosaurs are extinct.
I say No- They just evolved and lost their feathers and beaks.
Now they have skin, just like you and me.
Predators of man in plain sight-plotting their next siege.
Long Time No See
The ink in my pen ran out a long time ago.
Now I transcribe each noun, adjective and verb with my own blood.
The paper soaks up my pain and transforms it into riddles of similes and metaphors-
A confusion of emotions.
Confusion is what creates chaos, and you need chaos to invoke a revolution- and revolution is the never ending fight for the survival of our identity.
Sometimes I am afraid to write, because when my creative ports open, the unstoppable flood gates spills truths that drown others and I become an accessory to murder.
Turbulent waves- rip tides of secrets and painful memories seep into the fibers of lined paper and feed hidden seeds that sprout the language of the soul- a poem.
I stopped writing for a long time because when I do- I can feel my poorly healed scars start to dehisce and the pain taunts me as it bangs against the bars of my caged heart and the fallen angel that lives within me starts screaming to speak.
Mute.
Mute.
Mute.
You can only press the button but so many times before it breaks and your only choice is to listen and turn the volume up.
What is your soul saying?
I used to wear my heart on my sleeve but it kept getting impaled by flying debris from the tornados of fate-
But still I moved forward-
And when the barbed wire from the fences of life kept nicking my skin-
I still fought to progress-
and I had to jump so damn high to surmount the hurdles of trials and tribulations, hurdles which at times bruised my shins- over and over again
-but I still staggered on.
Wading through various cesspools of shitty circumstances, trying to stop and smell the roses proved to be challenging- yet still possible.
People just don’t understand that when home becomes hell the streets become heaven.
I’m sure that I’ve shared a drink and ate dinner with the devil many times.
I gambled it all away to the point where the only thing I had left was half a mustard seed in my back left pocket.
And in a swamp of decay- I was able to use it to grow faith.
And from that small patch of faith I was able to replant hope.
I had to stand tall and blow away the clouds of shame that hung over me in order to let the sun break through.
And man did my forest bloom.
My brain sprouted vines and carried me back to civilization where I continue to strive.
I allowed my face to be smothered with a pillow held by childhood trauma for way too long.
And you know what- it feels good to hear my voice again.
It feels good to be back.
Hello, It’s been a while.
