catalina-ferro

I am orphan
I am 4 AM John Lee Hooker
I am 45 minute shower
I am 8 different insomnia pills
I am difficult to look at sometimes
I am orphan
I am collage of tragedy
I am fist in mouth
I am dark like pitch
I am dark like blind
I am ghost of myself
I am orphan
I am weary
I am metal fatigue in hurricane
I am avert your eyes
I am go home and kiss your mother
I am golden retriever after Rotweiler dog fight
I am orphan
I am cautionary tale
I am tight rope trauma
I am leper on the subway
I am held together with scotch tape and spit
I am too young for this erosion
I am orphan
I am hemorrhage
I am eight day bruise
I am compound fracture
I am spine tingle, stomach clench
I am blind punch
I am broken knuckles
I am scar tissue
I am sorry, God, I am tired
I am orphan
I am grit under nail
I am grit your teeth
I am colander heart
I am soliloquy in the dark
I am shell-less turtle in Chinatown tank
I am chili powder in paper cut
I am tooth break from grind
I am orphan
I am orphan Annie on crack
I am angry
I am Molotov subtle
I am mountain from molehill
I am fucking Krakatoa
I am Clonopin cocktail
I am 45 minute couch junkie
I am acronym pathology
I am survivor’s guilt
I am miserable excuse for process
I am not mean, yet I am not sure I can stay this way
I am vocal chord rehab
I am still fucking here
I am orphan
I am pity in your face
I am why aren’t you over this
I am milk it for what it’s worth
I am Terminal C baggage claim
I am don’t tell her till she loves you
I am trying not to scare you away
I am failing
I am self-pity
I am gut-wrench diarrhea
I am 40 pounds lost to sorrow
I am orphan
I am tired
I am bad loser, worse mourner
I am snot river choke
I am dehydrated
I am sorry
I am sorry for myself
I am stained glass resilient
I am poor kid called to principal’s office
I am hushed whisper in pity fest
I am brittle bone
I am orphan
I am sour like curdled breast milk
I am itch on amputee
I am bitter air of unwanted estate
I am nine years old for the rest of my life
I am Thanksgiving at the movies
I am Christmas Eve drunk
I am Mother’s Day, don’t fucking talk to me
I am orphan
I am orphan
I am never going to be loved like that again
—  Catalina Ferro, “I Am Orphan”
Top 10 Favorite Slam Poems.

10. Small towns by Ollie Schminkey and Wyatt Fleckenstein


9.  How to Get Beat by the Cops by Neil Hilborn


8. The Bride by Emi Mahound


7.  Anxiety Group by Catalina Ferro


6. Dreaming Boy by Sarah Kay


5.  A Letter to Master Pokémon Trainer Ash Ketchum by Nikki Burian


4. Church by Bobby Crawford


3. Lessons On Loving A Prophet by Jeanann Verlee


2.  The Confederate Flag Poem by RJ Walker


1. Subaru Lover by Bobby Crawford

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“Anxiety Group” by Catalina Ferro

“Apparently we’re all going to die. The girl to my left worries the satellite will hit her, while the women to my right worries it’ll hit a nuclear power plant. Then we’re all fucked.”

and there was that time
I sat with death in a room for 17 days
and we played that game
where the first one to blink loses.
We talked about the kitchen,
and the knife, and also about the scalpel, and the gun
and my eyes burned until there were no tears
but I did not blink
and neither did death
and in the end one of us won
but I don’t know who.
—  Catalina Ferro - Banshee 
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 Catalina Ferro - Emergency Exit Row

Continental Airlines Flight 1065 from Newark to Mexico City.

“Excuse me, Ms. Flight Attendant, ma’am, I do not believe that I am capacitated to sit in the emergency exit row of this aircraft. I was told to speak up.”

She looks at me like I’m crazy, like she’s never heard this before, she surveys me looking for missing limbs and says,

“And why are you not capacitated?”

I say, “Because I don’t particularly want the responsibility. I believe that in the unlikely event that I or anyone else survives the graceless plummet to earth of this metal tinderbox, of this winged, riveted coffin, in the event that there is an emergency evacuation, I will be unavailable to assist you in saving the lives of the three hundred other immaculate souls that will need to siphoned through the ridiculously small hole in this here window. Chances are, to tell you the truth, that if I manage to gather enough of my shit together to even open the special pressure hatch, I’m gonna be adios muchachos faster than you can say ‘700 tons of highly flammable jet fuel’. Don’t look for me. I will be negotiating the terms of my survival with the coyotes or the sharks, which ever apply. Which means I’m gonna be making damn sure that they eat you first, and if they don’t, I will. I am not hero material, I happen to like my life. ”

She is not amused.

As punishment, she makes me sit in my assigned emergency evacuation row seat, where I am sandwiched between what I discover are the only two types of people who actually want to sit the emergency evacuation row: a Marine, and a guy that wishes he was a Marine.

They are both reading books about Al Queada.

The Marine sits bolt upright next to the hatch, he is as much in charge of getting people through the hatch, as he is of executing anyone who attempts to open it midflight.

He is all crew cut and ironed jeans. He could kill me with his thumbs.

The other guy is all Wal-Mart TV dinner gut. He is balding and mustached. His wedding band is strangling his sausage ring finger. He tells me immediately that he took a course on aircraft evacuation.

I say, “For what?”

He says, “To be able to sit in the emergency evacuation row.”

He then inquires as to my own catastrophe credentials.

I say, “I am a New York City slam poet. I can write the shit out of any situation. And more importantly, I am the only one malnourished enough to fit through that hatch.”

Crickets.

No one on this airplane thinks that I am funny today.

I say to them both, “If shit goes down, do you got this?”

Bald, mustache, sausage finger says, “I am a highly trained evacuation expert.”

Crew cut thumb killer stares directly ahead and says with no emotion at all, “I got this.”

I am a chicken shit.

So when the plane starts to thunder down the runway, I cross myself three times.

They both look at me with a mixture of surprise and pity.

I say, “What? I happen to be more useful than I look. I may not be trained in hand to hand combat, or hysterical person slapping, or staying calm in moments of ever, but I am a New York City slam poet and if shit goes down, I am the only one here who knows where to find god.”

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Catalina Ferro performs “Orphan” (by speakeasynyc)

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Catalina Ferro performs “When my Strength Failith.” I hope the church is listening.

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On the subject of poems here’s one of Catalina Ferro’s best poems

“Excuse me, Ms. Flight Attendant, ma’am, I do not believe that I am capacitated to sit in the emergency exit row of this aircraft. I was told to speak up.”

She looks at me like I’m crazy, like she’s never heard this before, she surveys me looking for missing limbs and says,

“And why are you not capacitated?”

I say, “Because I don’t particularly want the responsibility. I believe that in the unlikely event that I or anyone else survives the graceless plummet to earth of this metal tinderbox, of this winged, riveted coffin, in the event that there is an emergency evacuation, I will be unavailable to assist you in saving the lives of the three hundred other immaculate souls that will need to siphoned through the ridiculously small hole in this here window. Chances are, to tell you the truth, that if I manage to gather enough of my shit together to even open the special pressure hatch, I’m gonna be adios muchachos faster than you can say ‘700 tons of highly flammable jet fuel’. Don’t look for me. I will be negotiating the terms of my survival with the coyotes or the sharks, which ever apply. Which means I’m gonna be making damn sure that they eat you first, and if they don’t, I will.

“I am not hero material, I happen to like my life. ”

—  Catalina Ferro, Emergency Exit Row
These people who fight through everyday like fucking gladiators
Who fight demons worse than you and I can dream of
Just because they want so badly to live,
To hold on
To love
Because you can’t be this afraid of losing everything if you don’t love everything first
Because you have to have a soul crushing hope that things will get better
To be this afraid of missing it
—  Catalina Ferro, Anxiety Group
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Catalina Ferro’s “Emergency Exit Row” (by speakeasynyc)

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“Only rich people go to therapy, poor people got shit to do.”

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“Anxiety Group” by Catalina Ferro

“Wow, it must be so exhausting to want to live this much.”

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Catalina Ferro - “Emergency Exit Row" 

“Excuse me, Ms. Flight Attendant, ma’am, I do not believe that I am capacitated to sit in the emergency exit row of this aircraft. I was told to speak up.”

She looks at me like I’m crazy, like she’s never heard this before, she surveys me looking for missing limbs and says,

“And why are you not capacitated?”

I say, “Because I don’t particularly want the responsibility. I believe that in the unlikely event that I or anyone else survives the graceless plummet to earth of this metal tinderbox, of this winged, riveted coffin, in the event that there is an emergency evacuation, I will be unavailable to assist you in saving the lives of the three hundred other immaculate souls that will need to be siphoned through the ridiculously small hole in this here window. Chances are, to tell you the truth, that if I manage to gather enough of my shit together to even open the special pressure hatch, I’m gonna be adios muchachos faster than you can say ‘700 tons of highly flammable jet fuel’. Don’t look for me. I will be negotiating the terms of my survival with the coyotes or the sharks, which ever apply. Which means that I’m gonna be making damn sure that they eat you first: And if they don’t, I will."