slam records

I am trying to write a poem about my loneliness
But the page just seems to insist
on staying empty.
But loneliness isn’t emptiness
loneliness is the lead ball in the pit of your stomach
and the feathers tickling the back of your throat
loneliness is the itch you cannot scratch
it’s feeling far too much
far too little.
Loneliness is an all consuming enigma
of the past
of a past
Of a past you’re trying to forget
Of a past you can’t help but regret
Of a past that shoved you into the position
of isolation in which you reside
In which you’re going to die.
And sometimes solitude becomes gratitude
but the demolition of the monuments
that used to be perched on my ribs
left nothing but dust
and I am no longer grateful.

I used to build shrines in my heart to girls who would
never quite love me.
But that was never loneliness.
Unrequited love is a social activity because broken hearts
scream louder than all the wind in the world
howling together.
Despite the rain and miserable weather
I could fill myself up with love even though no one
would ever reciprocate
even though I always had to compensate
by giving more than I had left in me.
I would clutch my chest and rip out pieces of my heart
on which metaphors for love and birds and bones
and sadness and stars
would rest.
I could gift these to those who smiled.
Because nothing cuts into loneliness like affection
or attention
or the smile of someone who has no
reason to.
I suppose I never had a reason to.

I am trying to write a poem about the rain.
They say that people are nothing like rain
nothing like snow
nothing like autumn leaves
because people do not look beautiful when they fall.
A phrase I could never quite wrap my head around.
Because to me falling is dancing
and dancing is writing
and writing is cleaning your body of the toxins
that well up behind your eyes
and hide behind your liver
and pump fluid in your lungs.
What isn’t beautiful is hitting the ground.
The snowflakes will dissolve and the rain
will be absorbed by the greedy earth.
The leaves will rot
and you’ll be taking shots
Until your heart falls out of your chest.

Loneliness is falling
and falling is dancing
and dancing is writing
and I am trying to write a poem about my overwhelming
fear of touching the solid ground.
I am trying to write a poem about falling
Because I reside in free fall
and my heart falls for the snow
and the snow falls for the rain
and the first rule of gravity is everything
must fall
So we fall
And I fall
and you fall.

—  Fall (Emf)
What It’s Like

I know what it’s like to sit on the couch and watch people on the news jump from buildings and not understand it.

I know what it’s like to sit there and imagine yourself in their place while not knowing why you’d even want to.

I know what it’s like to grow up in a family who gave you the perfect childhood with love and money and endless privilege and I know what it’s like for that to be used as an excuse as to why there should be nothing wrong with you at all.

I know what it’s like to wear long sleeves and torn jeans in the summer because keeping secret skin a secret means more than the southern heat and the salt seeping in.

I know what it’s like to want to talk about it with people you think you can trust but not talking about it because it’s not for attention, right?

I know what it’s like to think you bear your burdens alone.

I know what it’s like to feel like a stranger in your own skin and I know what it’s like to feel like you’re watching yourself from afar live a life you don’t even recognize.

I know what it’s like to wake up and paint over the cracks in your mask in order to smile just a little brighter so the questions won’t flood in from the people queued up that think you’re nothing less than stable and healthy and great.

I know what it’s like to stand beside a parent while they watch mental illness on the 11 o’clock news and whisper thank god that’s not my child.

I know what it’s like to watch the people you love sigh and shake their heads when he ends up in the hospital again because he wanted to kill himself for the third time this year, and I know what it’s like shoulder your guilt because apparently that what it is to them; an inconvenience in their otherwise normal lives.

I know what it’s like to be called lazy and useless because you’re not sick, no you’re not sick and you just need to get your act together. We all have bootstraps and it’s time you got a firm grip on yours.

I know what it’s like to have all the energy sapped from your body because your head is a leech and it wants to suck you dry of everything you once loved and enjoyed and sought pleasure in.

I know what it’s like to overthink your every action and I know what it’s like to condemn yourself because you feel as if you’re not deserving of anyone’s time or energy or glance.

I know what it’s like to feel the embrace of someone you thought you loved and I know what it’s like to take their sickness and make it yours and I know what it’s like to be hated for thinking the best course of action would be to cut it off like an infected limb. I know what it’s like to be the bad guy; the bad guy in someone’s story and the bad guy in your story and I know what it’s like to not be able to change the narrative no matter how hard you try.

I know what it’s like to watch the sun rise while you scribble in a journal hoping that maybe if you write one more sentence, catharsis will come and you won’t feel so alone anymore. I know what it’s like to beg and plead with yourself and I know what it’s like to reach out in the only ways you can to the people you thought would be there, only to find they’re just houses not homes. I know what it’s like to sleep in a bed for giants and wonder why you feel so goddamn small.

I know what it’s like to sit on the porch step and smoke an entire pack of cigarettes in order to keep your hands occupied; to have the smoke burn your throat so you don’t have to tear it out yourself.

I know what it’s like to feel the weight of a gun in your hand.

I know what it’s like to squeeze the trigger at some thin paper target you imagined yourself in and feel the kick ripple through your arms and connect into your chest.

And I know what it’s like to be home alone and have a muzzle pressed against your temple and I know what it’s like to be home alone and have that metal clank against your teeth because your hands are shaking too much and I know what it’s like to battle that voice in your head that does nothing but scream do it just fucking do it.

I know what it’s like to not know what the fuck is wrong with you and I know what it’s like to lay awake at night and ask the cold sheets next to you why you have to live a life like this. I know what it’s like to think about your own funeral and to count on your hands the number of people you think would maybe care.

I know what it’s like to not know what it’s like to be normal, and I know what it’s like to not be able to remember what normal even is.

But I also know what it’s like to empty a clip into your bare hands and palm each bullet before putting it all back safely. I know what it’s like to tell yourself not today not today not today.

I know what it’s like to stick around for one more song and I know what it’s like to keep moving forward even if you have to claw your way through every minute of every day.

I know what it’s like to laugh with the girl you think you could one day love. I know what it’s like to feel a small beat of your heart when your best friend reminds you you’re alive and you’re here and you exist in every moment of every day.

I know what it’s like to befriend the death sitting on your shoulder and I know what it’s like to tell him to fuck off. 

I know what it’s like to lie down 100 feet beneath the sea and to realize there is probably nothing in death quite like the quiet you find there. I know what it’s like to walk through jungles and rainforests and feel the humidity coat your skin in simple pleasure. I know what it’s like to greet new cultures and speak in different tongues and I know what it’s like to find yourself in tiny pieces of big people and big places.

I know what it’s like to feel another hand in your own and I know what it’s like to find salvation in such a simple gesture. I know what it’s like to feel the warmth of someone’s back as they’re pressed against you, fast asleep.

I know what it’s like to suffer and I know what it’s like to thrive.

I know what it’s like to be human like you and you and you and you and I know what it’s like to know exactly what it’s like to wonder what comes next and if maybe you can stick around to greet it all.

  • me, having a calm night reading through the SCP wiki: I see my cellular device is showing... a notification
  • boy [text]: hey ;)
  • me [text]: hello
  • boy [text]: wyd
  • me [text]: I am having a calm night reading through the SCP wiki
  • me: does not ask in return what he is doing or what he wants to be doing
  • boy [text]: haha but what would you be doing if I was there with you rn ;)
  • me, triangulating the position of the entity's cell signal, recording it, slamming my phone into the wall, picking up its remains, and locking said remains in a lead-lined 30.0 x 20.0 x 10.0-centimeter box, as I close out of all programs on my laptop to enter DEFCON 1 XK-Class Emergency Mode, typing: SCP-XXXX is any one of a number of malicious entities which seek copulation with human women whom they perceive to be heterosexual and attracted to solely heterosexual, monogamous, white, cisgender males such as themselves. 95 percent of SCP-XXXX entities are speculated to be between the ages of 18 and 25 years, and are frequently found roaming college campus football stadiums. Care must be taken when addressing SCP-XXXX instances as they frequently
  • me, radioing the MTF unit commander as I continue typing: I've got another one on the radar lads, ready the containment teams,

Serena Williams battled into her 11th Australian Open quarter-final on Monday, joining sister Venus, in her unrelenting quest for a record Grand Slam title and the return of her top world ranking.

The American powerhouse was tested by Czech 16th seed Barbora Strycova but she dug deep to win 7-5, 6-4 in hot conditions and will face either Johanna Konta or Ekaterina Makarova for a place in the last four.

No matter how much some of y'all try, no matter what, ARTPOP happened and it isn’t going anywhere. Y'all slammed Gaga and that record for YEARS for whatever various bullshit reason instead of just enjoying it and realizing that it was a fun, dance record made from her PAIN. She transformed it into something amazing where she talked about some of her darkest demons. So…with that being said, for those of you (fake ass stans) who did that and are about to come back on Friday like “I LOVE Gaga! I’m so glad she’s back!,” I hope you know that ARTPOP needed to happen in order for her to reach this place of maturity and happiness and success she’s at now.

Originally posted by lipsyncforyourlife

How to kill your children in nine easy steps

One, do not listen. Do not listen when they tell you that they are hurting. That they cannot get out of bed because it feels like chains have wrapped around them and those links of iron are killing them.

Two, scream at them. Tell them how disappointed you are because A’s have dropped to F’s and senior year might as well be junior because it’s gonna be senior year again.

Three, tell them they cannot love certain people. Tell them they cannot love someone of the same gender. Tell them they will go to hell if they do.

Four, do not acknowledge the heavy sighs, the dark shadows that have appeared under their eyes.

Five, tell them they do not matter. Tell them they are a failure, they are worthless, they are not worthy of your love. Tell them this with your eyes. Tell them with your hugs, tell them with your lack of hugs. Tell them with your mouth hesitant “I love you’s”, where they used to flow like Niagara Falls.

Six, cry. Cry when you find a binder stuffed in a Drawer under underwear and bras. Cry when you violate their privacy and go through their art and find two girls kissing. A boy holding hands with another boy. A vibrant water colored rainbow with the words “pride” written under it. Cry when you find an LGBT flag carefully folded and set in a box in the back of the closet.

Seven, be disappointed. Criticize every action and everything that makes up the beauty of your child. From their art to the clothes that they wear.

Eight. Do not accept them. Yell back in anger when your daughter says she loves a girl at school, tell your son the crush he has on that boy is a sin. Glare, with the intensity of the hellfire you say they will go to, as your child tells you that sometimes they’re a girl and sometimes they are not and they want to change their name and their pronouns do not belong to a binary gender.

Nine. You have now shoved your child into a box until they could not breathe and now they are in a shiny, bigger box. Into a hole in the ground. Soon it will be topped with a stone that holds the wrong name and you will tell them it is their fault.

You will tell them this by saying it isn’t yours.

Big dig begins after Quebec slammed with record-setting blizzard

A major cleanup is underway in Quebec after a record-setting snowstorm that left hundreds stranded on a highway in Montreal and many schools, universities and daycares closed across the province. 

A total of 40 centimetres has fallen in Montreal since the snow began Tuesday, while other parts of the province were digging out from as much as 70 centimetres of snow. 

Many flights at Trudeau airport were cancelled or delayed, and most school boards in the province were closed Wednesday. 

Schools are expected to reopen Thursday, including those in the English Montreal School Board and Lester B. Pearson School Board. 

Storm claims at least 4 lives

Across the province, at least four people died as a result of the powerful winter storm.

- Two men died after being trapped in their snow-covered vehicle overnight on the main street of Saint-Pierre-de-la-Rivière-du-Sud, in the Chaudière-Appalaches region about an hour northeast of Quebec City.

One of the men called 911 at around 11:30 p.m., but police efforts to reach the vehicle by cruiser, snowmobile and finally wading through the deep, driving snow didn’t succeed until just before daybreak. By the time the vehicle was finally located at 6 a.m., the men, 33 and 41, were already dead. 

- A man in his 50s was killed around 6 a.m. in Saint-Anselme, about 40 kilometres south of Quebec City, when he was struck by a snow-clearing vehicle.

- A 40-year-old truck driver died after a fiery crash involving at least seven transport trucks forced the closure of Highway 20 near Saint-Zotique, just east of the Ontario border, during rush hour on Tuesday. A three-kilometre stretch of the highway’s westbound lanes remain closed on Wednesday evening, as the cleanup of a toxic spill from one of the tanker-trucks continues.

The storm led to a number of other accidents and some major crashes, including a 50-vehicle pileup on Highway 10 near Magog.

300 stranded overnight in Montreal’s west end

Roughly 300 vehicles were stuck on a stretch of Highway 13 near Montreal’s Lachine borough after a truck went off the road at about 7 p.m., their drivers and passengers left stranded overnight. Provincial police, helped by Montreal firefighters, didn’t begin clearing the highway until around 4:30 Wednesday morning.

- DETAILS ON CLOSURES HERE | CBC Montreal Storm Centre

Lee-Ann Kovacic, a bartender, was among those who spent the night in her car.  She told CBC News that police walked along the highway knocking on car windows, telling drivers one by one to turn around and drive the opposite way.

“There’s no way to get off the 13, and once you were there, you’re just stuck,” she said.  "At one point, there was this man walking over with a thermos full of coffee handing it to everybody in the cars.“

What went wrong on Highway 13?

The night-long saga had officials scrambling to explain the slow response in a province used to major snowfalls.

A furious Mayor Denis Coderre blamed Quebec’s Transport Ministry for its failure to co-operate in a timely way with the city administration.

"I think the situation was unacceptable," Coderre said.

Speaking in Quebec City, Premier Philippe Couillard said the response was "lacking co-ordination.”

He said the storm was “exceptional” but that means it deserved “an exceptional response.”

“We have to take the lessons from this situation and do better — much better — next time,” he said.

Public Security Minister Martin Coiteux vowed to get to the bottom of what happened within 48 hours.

“They don’t defend the undefendable,” Coderre responded later in the day. "But they are looking for answers.“

Snow-clearing begins

In Montreal, major arteries had been cleared of snow by mid-morning, even as the snow continued to fall. 

With the snow finally petering out, snow-clearing equipment will be out in force in Montreal beginning at 7 p.m. Wednesday. The city said 2,200 snow-clearing vehicles are to be out on the streets.

The mayor urged residents to stay home or take the Metro.

Montreal’s public transit agency, the STM, warned commuters to expect delays. More than 200 buses were stuck in some parts of the city, and the STM said 100 drivers were unable to make it to work themselves Wednesday morning.

‘Exceptional’ storm, provincewide

The storm dumped nearly 60 centimetres on some parts of the Eastern Townships, while the Montérégie and Bois-Franc areas were hit with 75 centimetres.

In Quebec City, Champlain Boulevard, a major thoroughfare that runs along the Saint-Lawrence River, is partially closed to traffic due to flooding. 

Quebec City police are asking drivers to avoid the area. Highways 20 and 138 north of Quebec City were closed to traffic, while Highway 132 in the Gaspé was closed almost the whole way around the peninsula.

More than 35,000 Hydro-Québec clients were without power across the province Wednesday evening.

Got a story from the storm? Send it to

Many of you guys have asked me to post a recording of me performing one of my slam poems so I decided to go ahead and do that today. Granted, many of you asked for an actual video but this is what I could do (and can do until next Tuesday) on short notice. 

I stutter a bit at some parts and, naturally, I think I sound strange but who doesn’t think that when they hear themselves on a recording? 

Anyway, here is my poem Dear 1-6.

Made with SoundCloud
Little did they know,

when the world first had a glimpse of the champion he would become

that he would keep on winning,

and winning, 

and winning.

He was standing on top of the world,

then he fell.

The king returned to claim his throne, 

yet he would fall again,

and again.

They doubted him, 

but Roger Federer, would prove once again why he is the champion that he is, and also the greatest player of all time.

Federer ended his consecutive grand slam appearance record at 65 by withdrawing from Roland Garros.

Yet he will come back,

in white, gracing the court, with his enchanting tennis and timeless elegance.   

p.s. this is an edited old post of mine.