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Slam Poet

He stepped to the stage
Stood motionless;
Visibly uncomfortable under the bright lights
Feeling the heat from the hundreds of watchful eyes
Surveying his naked soul
Watching his every movement
The room overflowed with anxious energy
As they waited for him to start
He took two steps back
One long, deliberate deep breath
Paused; and then went in

Flawless enunciation
Fast paced cadence
Haunting words hurled at the audience
Like scavengers gnawing,
Pecking dead meat off his soulless skeleton
You could see his skin slowly peeling away
With each word that was gobbled
Consumed by their insatiable thirst for more


Gut wrenching stories of
Excreting blood
After being painfully penetrated
By blood related penises


Harrowing stories
Of being the son of a crack addict mama
Who used her lips to suck
Opened her legs to fuck
For money to feed her addiction
She never thought about feeding him;
Crack addicts don’t think


A painful grimace
As he took us down memory lane
To that dark night where the errant bullets
Singing from the dark sedan
Left his brother in his arms


Spit flying from his mouth
Arms flailing
You could feel the handcuffs get tighter
You could feel the baton smash into his back
Smash across his shoulders
Just before his body convulsed
As the pigs sent shockwaves
Through his nervous system


2 minutes, 30 seconds
Hurling haunting words of ghetto hopelessness
Broken poverty
Police brutality
Drive-by get low moments
Where he was uncertain if he would live
He wasn’t certain if he wanted to live
Cursing at his self;
“Why do I keep getting up when I don’t even want to live”
Why does he want to live?


2 minutes, 50 seconds
He looked at the audience
…put his hands on his head…
…cried… the coach always told him to cry…
…bowed his head as he took a knee…
“Please God, Can I Live”


The crowd erupted
Spontaneous applause
Standing ovation
Stumping their feet
Screaming in amazement
As the cards turned around one by one


No calculation necessary
No need to deliberate
Crown him
Call him the greatest
Thank him for entertaining you
With those beautiful stories of despair
Crowd his space to tell him
How great his poetry is
How great he is
Snapchat him
Tag him on IG
DM him to ask him if he will perform
At your upcoming showcase
Promote him
Do everything
Do everything
Do every single thing except ask him
If he is okay


Long after the crowds have dispersed
The bright lights of the stage have gone down
The people have stopped crowding his space
Their gaze is no longer upon him

He stands alone
Feeling like a zero
…and still asking the question…
“Why do I keep getting up when I don’t even want to live?”


They loved his words
They loved his delivery
They loved his performance


He gave it all to the judges
To the crowd, and
Forgot to keep any for his own healing


They never asked if he was okay?


The empty soul of a slam champion
Who healed souls
While dying a little bit with each word he spit



Support the Arts by Supporting Mahogany


you what today is? Today is a day to support the Mahogany Urban Poetry Series 15th Anniversary celebration by donating to and sharing information about the Indiegogo campaign. Today is a great day to enter the Mahogany Urban Poetry Series 15th Anniversary Poetry Contest. Today is a day to support something that’s positive and worthwhile.

Why? Poetry saves lives. Poetry helps people get on the good foot. Poetry influences people and the people in their life for the better.

Question: How would you feel if you found out you had a Maya Angelou, or a Langston Hughes, or a Nikki Giovanni, or a Sonia Sanchez, or another amazing poet that would change the world right there in your local city; and you never found out about them because you chose not to support the arts? Let’s make sure it doesn’t happen; these young beautiful voices need a platform. Mahogany Urban Poetry Series gives them this platform.

Donate to the IndieGoGo Campaign. Enter the Mahogany Fifth Poetry Contest. Spread the Word to Others.

Go to:


Not Where I Expected, but Exactly Where I’m Supposed To Be


Whether it fits right into our plans or takes us somewhere we never expected to go, God always places us exactly where we’re supposed to be. ~ Sean King

A couple of months ago I received an e-mail calling for models of all experience levels for the Blush Fashion show from my good friend. In addition to the fashion show raising funds for an organization dedicated to increasing awareness for Breast Cancer (Carrie’s TOUCH), I thought it would be a great opportunity for my sister who has often said her dream is to be a model. I agreed to go with her to offer support. On the day of the casting call my sister caught some type of virus and was unable to make it. By then, I had already told my friend I would be coming to the casting call to support the event and my sister, so I still felt obligated to go (#KeepYourWord).

When I got there, without my sister, they asked me to do a poem to audition for the show. Reluctantly I agreed and was later asked to participate and write a new poem for the show. In addition to work, family, and several performances I was trying to figure out how I would write a poem dealing with breast cancer. To say I had writers block is an understatement.

Then it happened. A good friend of mine’s cancer that started off as breast cancer came back with a vengeance. When I went to visit her in the hospital, knowing that she was on her death bed, she asked me to write a poem for her. That night, I wrote a tribute to her and to people all over the world battling with cancer. She read it, snapped her fingers, and approved it before passing on later that week. This was the poem I was supposed to write. The BLUSH fashion show is the place I am supposed to share it. Carrie’s TOUCH, which my friend was a part of, is the cause my talents were called to support.

The whole time leading up to that revelation I thought I was supposed to be helping my sister get a chance to pursue her dreams. In reality, my sister was a part of God’s plan to put me on stage on May 11 to represent for my good friend.

I do wish my sister had fought off her illness, her fear, and took a step toward her dreams, but so goes life. Insha’Allah/God Willing, on May 11, I know I will be where I am supposed to be and I hope you’ll be there with us.