Best Shredding Poems
All things have shadows, just turn on the light!
In bright light, shadows are deep and intense
A shadow is your dark-side twin repressed
A vault for your psyche's off-cut rejects shed.
Become fulfilled by shredding your shadows
Not trying to quench your shadows with light,
But by garnering the negatives shed,
Enlightening the shadows of your fears.
Bright light people have the darkest shadows,
Not because their cellars of regret are full
But because the grey shadows of doubt are gone
Unconscious integrated with the conscious.
Shredding skin
this world i'm in
spins and spins
leaving me breathless
with nowhere to fall
ribbons wave in the air
and no one really cares
which team is winning
and i just keep on spinning.
I once took my mother’s pearls
and wore them to kindergarten.
I wanted to look like an
Adult—
a word now bitter on my tongue.
In playgrounds, we believed
in monsters—
now we drink with them,
learn their masks,
mirror their smiles...
We say growing up means
ties with clips and red-bottom heels
when really
it's just learning—
to shed off sincerity,
so adulthood can
grow wings
threaded
with histories we never told.
In the shedding,
we never asked—
if the silk unraveling from our backs
meant we escaped—
or just overdressed
for the fall.
Stoic, the mic stand is circumspect
of all the energy in the room;
Waiting but will not remain unchecked;
Calm throughout the process of load in
now leading this layout of the stage;
Headlining’s a stroke of good fortune;
Crowd awaits the collective player
as that set list is taped to the floor;
High is their hum that hangs in the air;
Limelight’s on as the amp starts smiling
eager to take them all to the edge;
Breaking that sound barrier shredding.
Intro
Out past the corner store, where the ice cream truck fears to roll,
Lies a block with more rhythm than a washing machine on spin cycle,
Where the cats wear sunglasses at midnight,
And every pothole’s got a story to tell.
Tonight, I tune my axe—rusty strings, missing a knob,
Ready to melt faces in the moonlit back alley,
Like a mangy Pitbull with a vendetta… and a killer solo.
Verse One
Woke up this morning, amp buzzing like my neighbor’s old fridge,
Slapped on my battle vest—duct tape, soda stains, and a whiff of cheese,
Strutted outside, guitar in hand, hair like a busted mop,
The pigeons scattered, the mailman ran,
But the rats? They stayed for the show.
I cranked my volume—knob turned to “obnoxious,”
Let the riff rip like a can opener in a tornado,
Kids peeking out the window, thinking I’m the ghost of Hendrix,
But really, I’m just here for the glory,
And maybe a slice of leftover pizza.
Verse Two
Now Mrs. Jenkins on the third floor, shaking her fist in time,
Yells, “Turn it down!”—but her parrot’s headbanging, squawking sublime.
The streetlights flicker, dogs howl, the hydrant sprays applause,
My solos wail so fierce, even the stray cats press pause.
My fingers fly like ninjas high on energy drinks,
Strings screaming like sirens in a midnight chase,
Each note a lightning bolt, each chord a wild embrace.
Neighbors peep through curtains, can’t believe their ears,
While the moon taps its foot and the night sky cheers.
There’s no encore like thunder when I strum that last refrain—
A symphony of chaos swirling down the midnight lane.