From a Slam-lover to Another

I breathe words in

Like a fish out of water,

Ripe for slaughter,

I am, for intents all and purposes,

Wheezing, panting, breath for breath,

A drowning fish.

I love words, like,

Bacteria like feeding off of your flesh,

When the meat is warm,

And the maggots wriggle, 

Like the shush of a storm

And its gusty giggle

I love words.

Let not my love not be trampled,

Because it is are my lungs and heart,

My eyelashes, and strawberry tongue:

It is my dark art, my spare part, my best part,

For it is what I have to say, all I have to say

My words are my own, and for this,

I love them

Though this has been recycled time, and time again,

Promise me not to let anybody, not a soul that lives

(Or doesn’t, for that matter)

Breathe, heave or whisper,

That your words

Need to be changed,

that they don’t fit, Sit,

a bit within set structure, let

Nobody tell you that your voice is too

Strong, it’s wrong, or that you need

To change your words, to cater, later

To some dictator grader, invalidator of those words

That you love.

Speak your words, scream them even,

Lather notebooks and tables with them, 

Now and 60 years from now,

I ask you, neigh I implore that,

Love your words, like you love to live

And live, to love your words.