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Best Spoken Word Poems

Below are the all-time best Spoken Word poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of spoken word poems written by PoetrySoup members

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123
Details | Spoken Word Poem |

God, don't look at me like that

I never learned how to pray
because often times the silence preaches louder than the sermon,
and the bullets of my heart don’t bleed like you think they should
instead they melt
melt like icecream set out in the summer sun,
like the mountain snow run off into the streams,
like ice clamped together between my fist,
my fists,
my fists that stop bullets from protruding my skin,
my fists that explode and scream louder than a sermon.

God, don’t look at me like that.
Your pupils look like firing bullets,
knocking us out one by one by one,
saying you can’t come in
because you never learned how to pray. 

God, don’t look at me like that.
Your iris’s look like vortexs of instability
rolling our ground like an earthquake
telling us to do more,
be more,
pray more,
or we can’t come in.

My fists stop the bullets and together our fists make boulders,
knocking down our insecurities
one by one by one.
If we don’t make it in
then that is okay
because our fists will turn into butterflies
and our hearts will turn into lions
and our bones will turn into the infrastructure of hell
because that is what my preacher told me.

Preacher, don’t look at me like that,
don’t shake your head at my appearance
just because I have ink on my arm doesn’t make me less of a person,
just because I have color on my eyelids,
just because my skirts above my knee,
just because my fists don’t unwind and interlock doesn’t make me less of a person.

I never learned how to pray
because often times the silence preaches louder than the sermon.
God, don’t look at me like that. 


Details | Spoken Word Poem |

Trust

It's so simple,
So basic,
Yet we lack it.
Interaction is nothing without it.
Unable to make a bond because the fact is,
We've missed the point.
The point that connects you and me,
And not just on a family tree;
That connects us all from A to Z,
And not just on eHarmony.

Trust.

Where did it go?
Or did we even have it years ago?
Afraid to go on the right track,
Because we might get stabbed in the back.
Locking our doors and checking it twice,
Like we're Santa Clause on a Christmas blight.
Putting a lock on our phone for protection,
Because your friends may use it as a weapon.
Hiding what belongs to us,
Because we lost our trust in all our lust.
But trusting each other is a must,
Because you cant spell trust without us.

Trust.

A firm belief in the reliability,
Truth,
Ability,
Or strength in someone.
Can you think of anyone?
I am sure you can,
Maybe the one that holds your hand.
But for how long?
I'm sorry but it's true,
People can back-stab you.
But this can change starting with you,
Because if you trust people,
They'll trust you.
You may get hurt but at least you'll live,
With your heart on your sleeve and something to give.

So let's break this cycle of deceit and start this world anew.
It doesn't start with them,
It starts with you.
Trust someone and you will see,
How great this world could be,
For you and me.
It's not that hard so don't make it be,
It's only the fear of the possibility,
Of losing everything.
Don't fear,
Trust.


Details | Spoken Word Poem |

SURVIVAL IN THE MIDST OF IGNORANCE

My prayers are not asking you to
 
save me from my enemy.
 
My children have turned their backs.
 
They praise dance with many
 
Adversaries-
 
When they need be refuking,
 
protesting and rebuking.
 
Among-st those who fight against me-
 
be my offspring.
 
I fear not the man who
 
I already know to be the beast
 
While my eyes follow my historical foe:
 
Those created in my womb,go
 
behind my back sign treaties with known
 
enemies
 
Chiding our valuable place in history. 
 
They do not want to know how they got here-
 
They do not care.The nature 

of the beast consumes them.
 
Eyes full of temptations we 

kept their butts covered,
 
and gave them what we could never have.
 
Instead of gratitude they give us latitude  
 
we cannot reach them.
 
They love the enemy, like a favorite pet-
 
Stroking the dog and biting
 
the hand that feeds them wisdom.
 
We walked miles with no shoes -
 
Prayed for our families-
 
Now our families-prey on us
 
With every thing handed to
 
them through the struggle;
 
Our children render our efforts
 
useless and in vain.
 
Vanity be thou sanity 
 
Consuming life from 

the top shelves in cafe's...
 
Thinking non -sober thoughts-
 
Who knows why we now be despise.
 
Deaf are their ears when they hear our names;
 
Holding us accountable, For the shame. 
 
Never ready for the change.
 
My prayer now is;
 
God save me from my people:
 
The joy that settled in my
 
accomplishments is now
 
unsettled disappointment,
 
disturbing !
 
They want to have 

their cake crumbs
 
and eat them too.
 
Save us from the

 disgrace of how they
 
discount all we've sacrificed - 

We made it through
 
and we have shown our 

strength against all odds
 
How now they praise-

dance with the enemy
 
They drink no more 

from separate fountains
 
Never sat in the balcony-
 
never knew the colored section;
 
Never stood on buses.
 
Those of us who never found a soft
 
place to land in the concrete jungles;
 
 have lined your bottoms with cushion's
 
from the sacrifices and suffering we
 
endured.
 
Watching you again discount us as you
 
leave us to the ridicule of your own judgment.
 
As you praise dance with those
 
who aspire to see your detriment.
 
Never before have so many brave elders
 
have had to watch their own children rob
 
them of their glory and dignity.
 
Even an imbecilic knows when he's better off.
 
That's the sad difference between an
 
slow learner and a fool.
 
A fool never cares nor takes responsibility..
 
The slow learner finally learns.
 
And is delighted to be enlightened.
 
Where the fool continues
 
to waddle blissfully in his own ignorance -
 
Resenting all who shed light on the
 
error of his ways....
 
Those who have his best interest -
 
Become his stumbling block.  
 
Difficult now for them to blame others;
 
With bright lights shining on stupidity--
 
We give them proof-
 
blinded and overwhelmed
 
by the truth-they are not interested our story
 
Never realizing that while their
 
stubborn heads were buried-in the sand.
 
We still have to stand-- guard
 
over their protruding azzes 
 
Until my children have learned  
 
where they fit in on earth,
 
and what they are truly worth
 
they will continue " Praise-
 
Dancing" with the enemies
 
They will continue to be as eaglet's
 
flapping around the yard ,
 
clucking with the chickens...
 
never soaring-never getting off the ground
 
Bewildered by our "diminutive etymology":
 
The Elders and The Ancestors;
 
We look dumbfounded,and mutter....
 
"Where did we go Wrong" ?
 


Details | Spoken Word Poem |

This is me

You wake up in the morning to look in the mirror,
To say "This is me".
To Compare yourself to what you think you should be.
"I'm fat.",
"I'm ugly.",
"How can this be?",
"Why did God do this to me?",
You put on some make-up or some acne-cream,
To cover the blemishes that others can see.
But it doesn't mater what others see,
Beauty is in the eye of the beholder,
And the beholder is me.
So stop annotating,
And start complimenting,
Not on what should be,
But on what is!

You were created in God's image,
Oh.
How.
Powerful.
To see who you really are,
Oh.
How.
Magical.

In that mirror is not,
"I'm fat.",
"I'm ugly.",
But a scientific creation from stardust,
Something that's way beyond us.
And what's inside is something so unique,
So special,
Because no one else has it,
It's.
Like.
Magic.

It's you!

You are the most amazing thing to walk on this Earth.
With the ability to wake up and show your worth.
So why wake up and talk negative?
When you could wake up and smile.
Why not be happy for a while?
Why try to please everyone else,
When all you have to do is be yourself?

People say "What matters is on the inside.",
And you say "But look at my outside.".
And I say there is no good side,
You as a whole is the creation,
There is no separation.
Each person with 46 chromosomes working in perfect symphony,
Destroying themselves with negativity.
Just Stop!

You are beautiful because you are rare,
Because no one else can compare.
Your face,
Your nose,
Your eyes,
With your sense of humor to comprise,
Someone no one else can match.
Try to make it in a lab...
Try throw it down the hatch.
You compare yourself to everyone else,
When you are one of a kind.
Why can't you get that in your mind?
Diamonds aren't perfect so why should you be?
Beauty is not symmetry.
Look in the mirror and what do you see?
The beauty that you are...
This is me...


Details | Spoken Word Poem |

She Hulk

When I was a child I only ever wanted to be strong.
I wanted to be able to compete with the boys
and when I foot raced them at recess I won every time.
They called me ‘She Hulk’ because of my muscular frame
and from the way I only ever wore soccer t-shirts and sweat pants.
After that nickname was implanted into my brain like a growing weed,
I’ve only ever wanted to be feminine.
I started wearing skirts and dresses 
and in middle school they shrieked at the site of my makeup and done up hair.
But that weed inside of my mind only grew, and grew, and grew
until I became a mixed drink cocktail
with one part anorexic and two parts lonely,
because I thought that the definition of feminine began with the word frail.
No one ever realizes how greatly words affect us,
how a simple nickname can turn a pretty girl into a skeleton.
I stood at five foot two weighing seventy nine pounds,
so cold and frozen,
yet I still considered myself a ‘She Hulk.’
You could see my ribcage through my t-shirt
and my spinal cord protruded loudly through my weathered skin,
as if somehow my bones were dirty knives
just trying to cut through the flesh of judgment.
As I grew older I became the girl that was never enough.
Not good enough to speak poetry.
Not good enough to lay paint on a canvas.
Not good enough.
Not tall enough.
Not big enough boobs for them.
Not primped to perfection.
Not undeniably straight.
Not smart enough.
Not dumb enough.
Not ditsy enough.
Not cool enough or fun enough.
And I began to believe, too, that I wasn’t enough.
I never told my mother that I had been in madly in love with a girl.
I never told anyone about the night we first kissed 
because I was too vulnerable for the judgment.
And parents always justify saying that ‘kids will be kids’
But when we are kids our brains are still growing
and the smallest of seeds that get planted will one day bloom
into one giant regret,
will one day affect the choices that we make,
will one day influence us about the clothes that we wear,
will one day shape us into the person who we thought we would never be.
I only ever wanted to be strong,
and as a child I thought strength was only about being able
to lift a bar stool above your head.
I thought that strength was only about being able
to beat the boys in bare foot running races.
I was told that strength was something only
a man could have.
But as I’ve grown older I’ve realized that strength
isn’t about muscle at all,
but it’s about weakness,
and the ability to overcome the social anxiousness.
It’s about carrying around a lifetime of baggage
on your broken back
because the ones that kicked you when you were down
are going to be the ones that were  ultimately wrong.
I thought that the definition of woman 
began with the word disappointment.
And I became a mixed drink cocktail
with one part freedom
and two parts Sailor Jerry
because every girl needs a stiff drink once and awhile.
We are not disappointments.
We will never be the ones who gave up on hope.
We will never be the ones who gave up on each other,
or god,
or our mothers.
We will always be enough;
enough for the ones who shunned us 
enough for the ones that cursed us
enough for the ones the hurt us
and destroyed us
and beat us when we were covered in bruises.
But you see, bruises fade
and the scars of our flesh are only stories
things we have overcame
and there are things out there that we will overcome.
When I was a child, I only ever wanted to be strong.
I hid my vulnerability.
I hid the parts of me that were true.
I never told my mother about my girlfriend
because I was afraid she wouldn’t understand,
kind of like all those people who never understood 
just how much words effect us. 
I can’t say that I can beat the boys at foot races anymore,
because, well, I smoke cigarettes now.
And I can’t say that the nickname of my childhood didn’t affect me.
But I take that name now and embrace it.
Because I am strong.
I am the ‘she hulk’.
I am a mixed drink cocktail
with three parts greatful.


Details | Spoken Word Poem |

I Spit Fire

Ride me not I am a dreamer not a beamer/
I am more than gimmicks in these linguistic lyrics/
Check out my Bio sprinkled with lyrical Bios/

I got shot for walking like a thug in my poetry/
Igniting punch lines on poetic engines my mind elevated up tall over skyscrapers/
My footsteps curse robbers mesmerized bold gestures of counterfeit dreamers/ 
 
Rhyming on street headaches pinching gory dreams and views/  
On a trip to success I did get raided mistaken for future paychecks/  
I am a dreamer stripping brains naked until secrets are secretly exposed and noted/ 
    
Unlike your rules my poetry is barbecued bubble wrapped in lawbreaking clues/  
My tongue ejects ammunitions roasting ears with lyrical T-bone steaks serving pothole brains/
Everyone loves free verses donated to squeaky voices/

I spit flames spooky bloody shame against fame chasers on lame marathon street names/
I stole shows in dreamy rap-pose prose poems in slam-pose yes i got popped/    
So I flap my gums while trash talking with my fingers in sign language rhymes/
I own self edification not a gun why infiltration in my poetry/   


Details | Spoken Word Poem |

Slam time

Tilt down the mic
Let me set the mood with my rhymes
I can tell you bout my hustling and style
Please don’t give me half of your ears to mime
Never mind the jazz beats on my lips and tears
Its only part of my obstacles elevating stress
Poetry started in my dreams like that constable
Pictures depicting creatures in little sprinkles 
The pikitup picked up infants
My third eye reported
I cannot imagine infants recycled
A generation lazy to be immaculate
In their 36 weeks stomachs start swelling
The experimental generation
Mistakes of our life creation 
Killing innocent infants in the pavement of our heartbeat's mansion
This is a hostage situation
Let me slam this invisible oppressions 
Tilt down the mic
Let me set the mood with my rhymes
Throat cleared
Hi
My name is Raymond


Details | Spoken Word Poem |

Open Letter

I smoke-verse what i like and diss what i never like/
These is no teenage pregnancy lyrical attention like/
Unselfishness will be smoked in day light
waiting for my departure straight to heaven stations/

My gimmicks
never remix my metaphors trailing durations of my slams/
I explode messages hiding in your medulla passages/

Like Williams in his Soul/

I ink not for competition but humans i also mic what i like/
Like smoke i pollute your views
Resurrecting silent gods painting an army of words
Just the way i like it/
My goodbyes don’t come in plastic bags of diversion/
My goodbyes return favours of expressions/
For haters i gift wrap my poetry in rap styles/
Underground rap styles/
I am no president i puke stuff on an empty stomach/
My plates are filled with poverty dished up in appetizing pictures/

Bring a compass/

My words are not easy buttons you’ll be lost in my sessions/
I eat words prepared before eyes that listens/
Hate vocalists spraying volcanic words/
Hands throwing grenade Judgments/
Invented hateful sign languages/

This letter serves to open your mind in letters/

I speak louder than gunpowder/
I impress the oppressed depression reflecting my obsession in word combinations/

I bug more like a dog/

Woof woof/

Nature donates trees blowing breeze shading our skins and shallow skins/ 
Paper is made out of trees /
We ink our thoughts in trees/
My body trunk branching branches in sound/ 
Our blood the only proof connections come in different languages/
Love defined by time and the pace we space poetry taste placing connections in space/
I bug more like dogs owning props teasing flops flipping your emotions in uniforms/
Geographically my aim is focused on dropping arrows shooting seeds of my handwriting/

My seeds will grow as you water them with tears/
My speed will glow as you flash back how i grew like a tree/

This is far from a love letter/
I just love letters/
So open this letter/
See if you feel better/

(c) Ray


Details | Spoken Word Poem |

I Do Believe

"I Do Believe" 

The purpose of LIFE is to {Living In Faith Ever} 
to enrich God within us 
to an optimum level 
so that We as Humans 
can be guided by God 
to fuel out brothers and sisters 
with the same driving force 
to connect with the living God, 
to His existence and 
to See the Invisible, 
Believe the Incredible, and 
to Receive the Impossible 
to our everlasting journey 
to Heaven.

Rev. Samuel Mack
Copyright 2013

http:paladinnews1.blogspot.com


Details | Spoken Word Poem |

The Red Road

The Shaman sits upon the sand,
the sand of ocher clay;
between the walls of ruins tall,
where ancient one did lay.

The sky above, the earth between;
took in her sincere pleas
tinksha’s toned, soft flutes droned,
her mantra’s dire decree.

To be the light on darkened paths,
within the night belayed;
and be the brave dark in the glow,
of God’s pristine light portrayed.

Her life long work no sacrifice 
a love of mankind to display.

*One may be of any race or of almost any religion 
and walk the Red Road. The Good Red Road is a path,
a way of living. It's full meaning is the way one acts, 
the methods one uses, and what directs one's doing.
There is more to the Red Road than spoken word 
or written words on paper. It is behavior, attitude, 
a way of living, a way of "doing" with reverence - 
of walking strong yet softly, so as not to harm 
or disturb other life. The Red Road is a pathway to truth,
peace and harmony.


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