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Tag Archives: slam poetry

ROSES By Jasmine Mans

ROSES
By Jasmine Mans
Produced By Jon Bellion (Director)

Just because your feet fit perfectly in your mother’s shoes that does not make you a woman little girl…
Cherry popping I wonder of you put lip stick on your vagina
Draw pubic hairs with your mother’s eye liner
I wonder of you try on tampons just to see what a penis feels like
Only difference is you pull out when you want to
I wonder if you rape yourself in your sleep
Too young to understand how to love yourself properly
Sticking your Crayola fingers in between your thighs
It always hurts the first time.
Maybe tomorrow you won’t cry
I wonder if your mother recognizes the blood stains in your Cinderella underwear
Or if she cared enough to acknowledge they were there

And apart of me wants to blame your daddy
But some fathers are like God, you never see them but you know they exist
And some little girls would rather give their life before letting their dead beat dad save their life.
I wonder if you stuff your bra just to distract people from your heart beat
But the Corona of your breath does not hide to Similac on your teeth

You are still a baby
And Kotex and pampers are 2 different brands for a reason
And penises and pacifiers are not both made for teething
And the thirst of your soul will not be quenched with a man’s semen
Who cares about your bra size when you C cups as half empty I
m a sorry Beyonce made you trade in your Cinderella Custom for a freak him dance
But Halloween is not the only day that exposes damsels in distress
How long will you let yourself for susceptible to cat calls and whispers just to get a fucking glass slipper?

The same men you are waiting on to cum and save you
Are the same men who’s cum made you
The same men who put you on ships for 76 days and raped you
The same men who will tell you that knights in shining armor will make you feel protected
Same men writing scripts for the Disney Channel convincing you Pocahontas was never molested.

Save your soul
Because the coldest nights are not the ones alone, they are the spent holding yourself realizing your body is hallow
Stop cursing the stanzas placed on your tongue with fair that you my actually have a voice
Pick your pinks back up
Because I know grown women who would trade in their wisdom teeth for Barbies
Did you ever read the fine print on growing up Is that you have to face to responsibilities
And monopoly money will not pay for your mistakes
You can’t hula-hoop with reality and play hide and go seek with you fate

Enjoy the days where you and Dora the Explorer can still relate
Because soon blue won’t have all the clues
And the dales of dragons will be locked away in safes
Tell me who finger fucked your childhood out of you and tell them
I challenge them to a thumb wrestling match for it back
Just for you to enjoy the innocence of your soul placed on Santa Clause’s lap .

By Jasmine Nicole Mans

Lo (Enigmaress)/God/Source

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Posted by on May 19, 2016 in Art And Creativity

 

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“If Only Out Of Vanity” By Staceyann Chin Def Poetry

“If Only Out Of Vanity
By Staceyann Chin Def Poetry,
Season 2, Episode 7 (S02 E07)
Original Air Date: 2 August 2002

If only out of vanity
I have wondered what kind of woman I will be
when I am well past the summer of my raging youth

Will I still be raising revolutionary flags
and making impassioned speeches
that stir up anger in the hearts of psuedo-liberals
dressed in navy-blue conservative wear

In those years when I am grateful
I still have a good sturdy bladder
that does not leak undigested prune juice
onto diapers – no longer adorable

will I be more grateful for that
than for any forward movement in any current political cause
and will it have been worth it then

Will it have been worth the long hours
of not sleeping
that produced little more than reams
of badly written verses that catapulted me into literary spasms
but did not even whet the appetite
of the three O’ clock crowd
in the least respected of the New York poetry cafes

Will I wish then that I had taken that job working at the bank
or the one to watch that old lady drool
all over her soft boiled eggs
as she tells me how she was a raving beauty in the sixties
how she could have had any man she wanted
but she chose the one least likely to succeed
and that’s why when the son of a bitch died
she had to move into this place
because it was government subsidized

Will I tell my young attendant
how slender I was then
and paint for her pictures
of the young me more beautiful than I ever was
if only to make her forget the shriveled paper skin
the stained but even dental plates
and the faint smell of urine that tends to linger
in places built especially for revolutionaries
whose causes have been won
or forgotten

Will I still be lesbian then
or will the church or family finally convince me
to marry some man with a smaller dick
than the one my woman uses to afford me
violent and multiple orgasms

Will the staff smile at me
humor my eccentricities to my face
but laugh at me in their private resting rooms
saying she must have been something in her day

Most days I don’t know what I will be like then
but everyday – I know what I want to be now

I want to be that voice that makes Gulianni
so scared he hires two (butch) black bodyguards

I want to write the poem
that the New York Times cannot print
because it might start some kind of black or lesbian
or even a white revolution

I want to go to secret meetings and under the guise
of female friendship I want to bed the women
of those young and eager revolutionaries
with too much zeal for their cause
and too little passion for the women
who follow them from city to city
all the while waiting in separate rooms

I want to be forty years old
and weigh three hundred pounds
and ride a motorcycle in the wintertime
with four hell raising children
and a one hundred ten pound female lover
who writes poetry about my life
and my children and loves me
like no one has ever loved me before

I want to be the girl your parents will use
as a bad example of a lady
I want to be the dyke who likes to fuck men
I want to be the politician who never lies
I want to be the girl who never cries

I want to go down in history
in a chapter marked miscellaneous
because the writers could find
no other way to categorize me

In this world where classification is key
I want to erase the straight lines
So I can be me

~StaceyAnn Chin~

 
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Posted by on April 29, 2011 in Spirituality And Growth

 

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