This is a beautiful story of resistance. Subtitled version here!
Buddy Wakefield, the Information Man
simply incredible spoken word.
submitted by claritea
When poet Malcolm X. London spits that “the educated aren’t necessarily the educated,” he’s referring to the inequalities of the public school system. The18-year-old Lincoln Park High School senior argues that our “failing” schools are actually succeeding at what he says is their real purpose: Preparing young people for a future that mimics the problems and contradictions of society as a whole. “My high school is Chicago,” he recites. “Diverse and segregated on purpose.”
London’s poem, High School Training Ground, was one of several pieces that helped him win impressive accolades at this year’s Louder Than a Bomb competition. London was the top individual performer in 2011, selected from over 700 competitors. His piece is also the second in our month-long series of young poets performing their work on location.Chicago homie speaking thee truth. So deep and real. This is real life everywhere…even Sacramento.
(Source: xavierlondon)
Performing my “IT” poem at Brave New Voices 2010 in Los Angeles, CA. Semifinals.
Reppin PYPM! (Philly Youth Poetry Movement if you don’t know)
Team Black! Dashikis and War paint!
Oh look, Kavi on my blog.
AHHHH GENDER POETRY. Watch it. WATCH IT, damnit.
Beautiful. A tiny bit triggering for dysphoria, but beautiful all the same.
that was fantastic and gorgeous
“there are days when you can be shattered by a quick tongue, days when men argue about the lines of your body… you learn to hold your back like a flagpole, it’s all you’ve got out there”
*all of the cries*
(Source: barebrownboy)
Brave New Voices - Ramen
“Ma raised us with the intention of being Raw Men.”
AMAZING
For years you hid your tampons between mattresses, cut your hair short, lowered your voice, collected ace bandages and baggy clothes. Small town talk stuck to your shoulders, you nervously shuffled around gas stations, never looked men in the eyes. We share unwanted wombs. While mine collects cobwebs, yours lies in a coffin in Nebraska.
This is the state that made you famous, handed movie scripts to Hilary Swank. Your murder was Oscar worthy. We are walking obituaries. Your hate crime headline already carved across my forehead, people look at me and see your delicate hands and absent adam’s apple.
Brother, I’m afraid to use the bathroom… (Walk in, head down, don’t look at another guy.) I’m afraid I’ll be discovered… (Don’t talk, dont stare, don’t piss too quickly.) Some thick armed man will call me a queer, tell me to show him my tits. Suddenly I’m thrown against faucets, spit in my face, workboot gutting my stomach. I see you on the movie screen and wonder if it’s my reflection. I watch them push you into the dirt and drag me into their car as they break our bodies in between our thighs.
Brother, did it hurt when you kissed her goodbye? Did you know you were breaking your promise when you told her you’d come back? Did your parents panic? Buy you a prom dress? Struggle over pronouns at family gatherings? And how long did it take your girlfriend to run her hands along your skin, soft as hers? Did she leave her eyes open?
We are carcasses. Untouched boxes of condoms. We are public secrets, playground jokes, and horror films. We are costumes, stuffing, binding and makeup. We aren’t real men to them. Invisible til we’re screaming. They don’t remember our names until they read them on our tombstones.
They exposed you. Decided you’re better off as splattered ink on newspaper. Used you as a warning for the rest of us. And there are days when it works. Sometimes I forget that sidewalks can be safe. Sometimes I confuse their shooting eyes for the bullet that met yours. Sometimes I imagine the phone call my mother would get. Can almost hear my sobbing friends. Smell the lillies on my casket. Touch my girlfriend’s black dress. But brother, I am trying to be brave.
(Source: coffee-black-egg-white)
If you can spare 10mins for a bolt of inspiration check this out, Two time national poetry slam champ Anis Mojigani performs 3 poems at the 2006 Seattle Grand Slam. This is one powerful video.
Fantastic!
He is a romantic.
(Source: coryhunlin)
New one!
A Slam Poetry Performance by Sonya Renee about the anti-choice “women deserve better” campaign.
Love,
Rabble
“Get the fuck out of our decisions and give us back our voice. Women do deserve better; women deserve choice.”
Might’ve already posted this at some point, but i’ll always reblog poetry.
Amazing. Powerful. Brilliant.
