Memories

Memories
They are the bane of my existence I remember and forget like it was a hobby

I won’t remember

I keep on thinking back to when I told you all those things that came off the top of my head with only slight regret for vocalizing them and letting their meanings be shown to someone else, I don’t think I’m ready for this but there is no one else , maybe you just might understand how I feel…

Help me please

I don’t know what I’m doing anymore I’m just on auto pilot and have to mask everything so people don’t start to worry and I’m starting to get to the point where only few people can manage to pull me out of this hole I’ve buried myself in

I won’t remember

Pacing doesn’t help me one bit but when I look at this world and my errors I repent and feel asphyxiated by my own emotions and choke on my tears in silence while my mother lies asleep just 25 steps away from me

Help me please

I can’t say what is happening because I’m so confused and blinded from all this light trying to protrude into my darkness, why is my world so dark…

I won’t remember

I keep on telling myself that they are my responsibility each time I attempt to pull this metaphorical trigger on the non existent gun where I’m attempting again to take my life, but at least you’re giving me something to think about that isn’t the shit in my head.

Is this real

Words slowly come out in whispers as light as the air itself in their weight being that of a beached whale while trying to live through the host that they are attempting to kill while the host is suffering its just wanting to end the misery and be rid of everything but when the host doesn’t want to, it makes everything worse

I’m scared

That I’m a ghost at most and alarm systems can pick up my traces when I attempt to reconnect to my old life that has been secluded off from my memory for my own safety because that shit makes me bawl harder than having your toes clipped off with scissors and when I start it’s a roller coaster for all passengers even those in line for fucks sake.

Heart beats increase

As my heartbeat races and every memory up to now becomes meaningless and a hunt for steel edges to satisfy my need for blood to be shed just to temporarily stop this pain if even for just a day.

I’m so sorry for asking

For all those times I asked for a steel edge and how you’ve had to see me at my weakest point while trying to harm myself, while trying to harm what should be the sanctum of the universe to me but no it’s just another ruined building on the verge of collapse waiting for its destruction or the day someone decides to invest in it

I won’t remember

Sad eyes and broken bones as I patch up my wounds and think to myself can you help me please because I won’t remember your tender embraces that make me feel safe while I’m scared and the thought of losing that warm blanket that keeps my sanity together makes me want to die


But I won’t because I don’t want the world to ever lose your smiles.
Even if just for a moment.

- excerpt from a book I’ll never write 1

I say “I am a feminist”
and you laugh
because “Women have rights already”

And while you laugh at this movement
you are laughing at the 15 million girls who will become child brides this year alone
you are laughing at the millions of young girls sold into sex slavery
and at the 70% of women in India who are victims of domestic violence
and at the one in five rape victims in the United States
and at all of the people in the world who are discriminated against
because of something as simple as their gender

and in turn, I laugh at you
for your lack of an understanding
towards a movement that affects you 
and everyone that you know and love

But I do not laugh at your rape jokes 
I do not laugh when you tell me to “Shut up and make you a sandwich”
I do not laugh at your utter negligence to an issue as important as this

Because basic human rights are not funny
The very real experiences of those victimized
solely due to their sex
is not laughable
The suffering of my entire gender
is not a fucking joke that you are allowed to make.

—  so stop treating it like it is. 
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“Eleven Things You Should Know About Deaf People” was written in an effort to help people understand the Deaf experience. This is a poem I wrote at the Summer Slam Poetry Camp at Gustavus Adolphus College last year under the guide of my lovely mentors sierrademulder, Cuban Hernandez, Adam Henze, and Neil Hilborn (who called this “the most punk-rock thing he’s ever seen,” which is the greatest compliment I’ve ever received). Thank you so much for watching!

You wear three layers of clothing because you say that you’re always cold, yet you are the warmest person that I have ever known. I could make a home in your arms, fuck, you are like the morning sky. Your mind is so colorful and vibrant. Not one part of you is dull. I took about one hundred pictures of the sun this morning, and I tried to compare it to your eyes, but fuck, your eyes are more beautiful than the sun could ever be. And I am still trying to figure out how one person could ever be more beautiful than the sunset. You could do anything and still be beautiful, you could make me bleed, and I still would adore you. But you haven’t yet. I am waiting for you to kick my teeth in because I have made a shelter in your arms and I am waiting for it to burn down because everything that keeps me safe, eventually disappears. But, you are still smiling at me and I haven’t seen heaven yet, and I don’t believe in God, but, I think if heaven was real, it would look exactly like your smile and it would sound exactly like your voice.
—  Hey, I wrote you another poem. (Full)
12/1/14
Actually, it’s fine if you don’t want me.
Actually, it’s fine if you don’t want me.
Actually, it’s fine if you don’t want me,
and I am watering my plants
on Saturday morning like,
actually it’s fine, whatever you’re hiding,
whatever you don’t like about me. Actually,
play the tortured soul. And I will be on my hands
and my knees
cleaning.
And I will be soaking up your tears.
Actually.
Your blood will be on my hands and I will be washing
it down the sink.
It’s fine,
I understand
I am cleaning rings from my fingers,
it’s fine,
no one wants me. And I am shaving off hair, and it’s fine.
And I want you every night
but I give girls I love advice
on how to kiss you,
how to ditch you. And I tell them I don’t mind
when they fuck you in my bathroom. I get him drunk.
I get him high. I tell my friends I hate him.
In my bedroom, I puke up dinner
and fall asleep nauseous: imagining him in my living room.
Living.
I imagine myself making space for him.
In the morning, I hug my best friend and pretend
he isn’t living
more than a mile away. I cry all day
and portray it as laughing. There is never enough time
to know he’ll never love me.
I cut it out. And this is the end of a story.
—  Mistakes I Made While Drunk Part III; by Hannah Beth Ragland 

How to love your introvert

1. We introverts are not always the best at breaking the ice,
so in order to get the ball rolling,
we often have to resort to tactics that
may seem obscure to your average extrovert.
This may include subtle clearings of the throat,
gentle hand gesturing, and numbers placed
carefully into routine conversations where
they normally do not belong.

2. You may be asking yourself
“How can I be sure that I’m speaking to
an actual introvert and not someone simply
masquerading as one”, well,
here are a few tell-tale signs.
If the person wraps their arms around your shoulder
as they’re introducing themselves to you for the first time:
Probably not an introvert.
If the person uses the words “unwind” and “nightclub”
In the same sentence: Probably not an introvert.
If the person attempts to engange in
any conversation whatsoever about the weather
and they are not from Minnesota: Probably not an introvert.

3. To set the record straight,
I do not hate people.
But I do get pretty damn tired of them sometimes.
Just pretend for a second that
my desire to socialise could be equated
to my desire to exercise.
This means that a quick jog around the block
would be a lot like
catching a cup of coffee with a friend,
bar-hopping with buddies would be like
finishing a 6-minute mile,
and my senior prom was a little bit like
running the iron-man in the middle of August.
Now you see, I don’t hate talking to people
any more than they hate a little bit of exercise
but you wouldn’t challenge an Olympian to a marathon after he just finished a race.
Understand that when I tell you I can’t hang out tonight,
I just came back from a poetry jam,
maybe it’s not because I hate you,
maybe it’s because I’m tired.

4. There will be many times when you will be
uncomfortable in my silence, unsure of how I am feeling.
Understand, that just because I do not wear my heart
on my sleeve for everyone to see
does not mean that it beats any softer than yours.
Do not confuse the stillness of the lips
with the rhythm of apathy.
Do not confuse the sound of words rattling off, 80 beats per minute,
with the music of an actual conversation.
Just because I cannot commit the act of small talk
does not mean I don’t have huge things to say.
Just because I find peace within myself
does not mean I could ever stop wanting
to love so hard, because

5. We introverts are not always the best
at breaking the ice,
so we often have to resort to tactics that
may seem obscure to your average extrovert
this may include subtle clearings of the throat,
gentle hand gesturing, and
writing an entire poem just to say

6. I love you more than quiet trips to the library.
I love you more than cancelling Friday night plans.
Baby,
Baby, I love you more than Tumblr.
But when the world is shouting
far too loudly for us to hear our own voices,
and when these words cling
far too tightly to my own chest.
I just want you to know
that I love you,
I love you,
I love you.

—  Kevin Yang, How To Love Your Introvert
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FROM THE VAULT: Kevin Burke - “Day Two” (NPS 2013)

“Honestly, I’m proud of this kid. I’m glad that after thirteen years of learning, the one thing he has not picked up on is to blindly follow authority.”

Performing for Austin during semifinals at the 2013 National Poetry Slam. Subscribe to Button on YouTube!

Tell her the same things you did me 5 months ago.
Call her baby like it’s her middle name.
Take her to the place where we laid in the back of your car, praying that no one would see us in the back seat.
Drive around the same roads we did in search of nothing but just enjoying being with each other.
Let her find traces of me in your smile.
Send those dumb pictures I used to send to you when you needed a good laugh.
Come by my house, point to my window.
That is where we cuddled and made my bed squeak a little too loudly.
Point to the door you always left from.
That is where you first told me you loved me after we smoked a little too much.
Walk by my locker,
You kissed me here.
Go to the back of the german room,
You kissed me here.
To the kids house you picked me up from,
You kissed me here.
To the place in the hallway feet away from your locker, just by the cafeteria,
You kissed me here, a week ago.
As you did her too, yesterday.
—  She has the right to know (via unknown-taylor)
An Open Letter to My Clothes That No Longer Fit

Dearest leggings that constrict my legs, and jeans that refuse to go past my knees. To the shirt that clings to my breasts, and the bra that needs to be loosened. Shout out to the shorts that ride up my crotch, and the dress that accentuates my stomach, 

Go fuck yourselves. 

Now I realize that I may come across as crass and rude, but let me explain.

I may have once found you to be trendy and fashionable. I may have once worn you with privilege and pride. I may have romanticized and worshipped the size on your tags, or bragged to my friends how your number had decreased over the months.

But I’ve now come to realize that you had me under a spell. Some sort of witchcraft that made me believe that my jean size was directly correlated with my worth as human being. 

When I notice you staring at me from the hangers in my closet, I picture nothing more than a sick girl who thought she had control over her life, when in reality, had none. 

You sadistic fucks. You taunt me. You tell me that I’m not good enough, and that I’ve failed because you are no longer a part of the wardrobe that I wear day to day. You tell me I’m worthless. But I now know better.

I love to read, watch movies, catch up on the latest news, cook, swim, sing, travel, and participate in charity work. There is so much more to me than your size, and I am not defined by you.

I’m a good daughter, sister, friend, student, person. I work hard despite the obstacles presented before me. I use my compassion and empathy to help others. I have all of these amazing qualities and I will not let your size control my self esteem. 

As I pack you all in a box to be put away forever, I do not mourn. I smile because I’m leaving you behind. You were only a chapter in the beginning of the book of my life.

I have new clothes that make me feel loved, comfortable, healthy, and free. And to be honest, I look too fabulous to worry about the number on their tags. 

We had a hell of a ride, but it’s time for me to finally stand up for myself.

I’m taking out a restraining order against you, so we shall never meet again.

Thanks for the memories. I’m much stronger now because of you. 

xoxo -Kaitlyn 

how to get over a man who ain’t shit (in 7 steps)

Step 1.
Say aloud:

I am going to get over a man by the name of _________ because he ain’t shit.

as many times as it pleases.

Step 2.
write a poem.
it can be one word, or no words.
it can be sounds, or your silence.
just know when it’s started.
just make sure it ends.
f bombs are welcome.

Step 3.
who has time to write a poem about a man who ain’t shit? you do. Did your heart have time to love him? obviously. does the universe have time to be great? of course. Are you a poet? Do you breathe? do you have fingers? then you are a universe too.

and your heart is an orbit of stars clustering around
the black of you like a cheerful congregation…

do not dismiss its ache.

Step 4.
no, a poem does not mean
subliminal Facebook statuses.
It does not mean rebound love.
It does not mean “one last time for the road”
or “maybe he’ll be different tomorrow”

because he won’t be.
that just isn’t good math.

you probably aren’t good at math.

Step 5.
say aloud “I’m not that good at math”.

do not try to add or subtract things in your life just to forget him.
he is a loss. and a gain. It’s okay to not be okay with that. It’s okay to cry.

Step 6.
maybe you need to cry.
do that then.
the skies cry too.
and spring often comes after.

Step 7.
say “Goodbye”
say “hello”
wear your hair unkempt.
walk through a park.
decide to be happy.
without him.
decide that you are without him.
and you will be happy.
and you will be home.

home.
is wherever you choose to be.


[repeat every step until it sticks.]

C. 2015 Rashawna Wilson

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For Teenage Girls by Clementine von Radics

Maybe she’s born with it,
Maybe it’s gender stereotypes.
Unwritten rules she has been taught to follow since she learned the word no.
Hold your tongue
Keep your back arched
Don’t open your legs to wide
Don’t keep them to tight
Don’t show too much cleavage
Don’t wear collars that are up to your neck
But I don’t need to wear something that will choke my neck when this patriarchal society already has one hand gripping onto my vocal chords,
Begging me do not speak because someone might finally reveal the truth.
99 percent of women in western societies have experienced sexual harassment by just walking down the street;
Hey baby you’re looking fine today-
Don’t touch me
But you’re beautiful-
I said don’t touch me
I know you want it-
I said-
Take a compliment!
My sociology teacher told us to read an article about sluts
It was a man who wrote it
It was a man who talked about how young girls are wearing things they should not wear
How about men are writing about things they should not be writing about.
Boys are out here stealing girls first kisses;
Her name was Virginia
But it sounded like virginity so he thought he could just take that too.
Rapists rape people not clothing.
Unwritten rules she has been taught to follow since she learned the word no.
Put your head down
Keep your head up
Play hard to get boys like a challenge
But don’t play too hard cause sports aren’t for girls
Boys seem to think that just because they use the pro noun he means that they are more important than she is.
I’m getting pretty sick of boys demanding I open my mouth for them before I can open my mouth for me just to speak.
And just remember, sexism doesn’t exist because a few decades ago women were granted the ability to put a check mark in a box beside the name of the next man who would get to order them around.
Unwritten rules she has been taught to follow since she learned the word no.
Learn how to put on makeup
But don’t wear to much
10 ways how to please your man
But if you do you’re a slut
Ladies don’t swear
Well listen here asshole
My gender does not limit my vocabulary.
And you do not control what comes out of my mouth.
And you do not control how I live my life.
They thought they got rid of dictatorship,
Well wouldn’t you know men didn’t get the memo.
Just like they never learned the word no.
— 

Maybe She’s Born With It

aka A Slam Poem for All Girls Because Since 76% Of Main Characters in Movies/TV Are Men, You Finally Get Something That Is Just For You.

And watch the performance here: http://youtu.be/KAQmgvd17hI

“i’ve written a slam poem but i’m too scared to call it a slam poem in case it isn’t actually a slam poem and then people will laugh at me”- a slam poem by lucy sutcliffe 

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If you haven’t seen this, do yourself a favor.

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FROM THE VAULT: Jeremyah Payne - “Perfect Note” (TGS 2014)

“As long as you live your life like it’s a masterpiece there can never be a wrong note.”

Jeremyah Payne aka The Fluent One, performing during finals at the 2014 Texas Grand Slam. Subscribe to Button on YouTube!