To The Slams

I hear you up here as Goddesses and Gods
I hear you up here killin’ it
And I can only feel
My own mediocrity   
Because I suck at speaking my insecurities
So let me try to say I hate
Sitting off to the side
As the world spins around
And I play the role of awkward white guy
I hate that when I stand here
Wearing my scarves
Reading my poems about the sky
Rocking my so-called alternative style
That I am only seen as some dumb hippy
I resent, more than anything, being compared
To an ignorant
Homophobic
Parent hating
Cultural subjugating
Beatles loving
White boy
From the sixties
Deluded with ideas of non-violence
And Who’s rich enough to always
Afford that good bud
Because I know that ain’t me
And I know there’s more I can be
So I sit in the back seats at the slams
Cautiously waving my hands
Hoping to be cool like… damn
Wishing the joke’s not on me
You see, people scare me
So I’ll go with your flow
Unsure of what I know
Unsure if I can spit it
From the heart
And then you approach the stage
Your confidence
Your swagger
Your first wave education
Adorn your posture as an elegant fur coat
And your poem
Becomes a hurricane
It comes blowing me away
And you blow me away
And you blow me away
And you blow me away
So that I feel a ways away
While my worst enemy
Sits inside of me
Pulling the streamers
Off of the walls in my soul
Jealousy asks me
“Why didn’t I get that ill applause?
Why do I suck at spitting it so raw?
Why won’t the audience feed me…
Feed me
Feed me the mmm marshmallows
And the holy s**t cupcakes
That she just got?”
Like a younger me
I am addicted
To that sugar high
Of your ginger snaps and claps
But my two sisters never shared
Their easy-bake goodies
And I step back to scold myself
For making it about me
Because when it comes to you
And the rest of the world
I always make it about me
And I apologize knowing that
You are not here to the sounding board
To the dull beats and monotones
My white boy insecurities
But I have to-
I have to, to show that I could
I have to, to know that I am good
I have to, so that perhaps
I won’t be misunderstood
So as I hear you up here
Unable to fathom your rhymes and metaphors,
Your godly skill and passion
I sit there dreaming
To be half as good
I stand here dreaming
That I am understood