11:05 P.M. or Ode to Houston

Dear Houston and surrounding areas,

Its not you, it's me.
The years we spent together were…nice.
But I have reached a point in my life
Where you no longer satisfy me
Not that you ever really did.
Ok, actually it is you.

But it wasn't until now
That I’ve had the strength to truly
Sever all ties and bid you and your citizenry
Good Riddance!

As if your souring summer temperatures weren't enough
To label you as the breeze-deprived tyrant you are
You insist on bathing your inhabitants
In a cloak of a disgusting, sticky
Cocktail of sweat and atmospheric moisture
And I have oily skin.
Thus, any attempts of mine to enhance
My level of attractiveness to the opposite sex
Are thwarted by your wet and wily ways
Leaving my face shiny and my hair flat.

(No one wants to date an oily-faced girl with bad hair.)

I just don't like who I am when I'm in you, Houston.
I am cranky
And bloated
And usually pissed off
Due in no small part to the fact that
One must drive
At least half an hour to get anywhere within the
Sprawling metropolis of concrete and run-down buildings
That you call a city
And I do mean drive
Because lets be honest,
Your public transportation system is about as effective
As the Bush administrations foreign policy
And don’t you try to being the metro lite rail in to this
Because we all know that it’s bullshit.

And because your idea of public transportation
Leaves so much to be desired
Every other inhabitant must also drive at least half an hour to get anywhere as well!
Leaving your highways crowded and constantly bumper to bumper
With people who should have NEVER been issued a license

Cause, you see, last time I took defensive driving
A red light
Was not a suggestion.

And driving slower
Does not mean you are driving safer,
Lady who has slowed down to under 10 to make a right hand turn into a walmart
In the middle of a highway with a speed limit of 60.
A turning lane has been provided
For a reason.

And look, Houston,
I know you have your weight problems
But, seriously, must you all drive around in
Yukons and Expeditions and Escalades and
… H3s?
I know most of you guys are involved
In the highway-robbery that is the oil business anyway
But do you have to be such a jack asses about it?
Its bad enough that you are a town filled with people
Who think Ann Coulter shouldn't have her own bullshit
Forcibly inserted back up her hypocritical and not at all virginal ass,
But could you at least respect the fact that some of us
Would like to preserve a little piece of the only rock known
That can sustain human life?

Ok, look, all I am saying, is don't be surprised if I don't come around
Very often anymore, ok?
I think I've made our differences clear.
Namely, you're a soul-sucking jerk and I want out.
So please, don't try to contact me.
I'll be back for my stuff later.

I (aparently) BROUGHT it!

So, I slammed for my first time ever last night at the Austin Ego's Wed night slam. First round, The Fuck Poem-26.5. Second round, The Cage Poem-25.5 (I think). Third and final round, Words-29.2 for the win! (with a 30 being a perfect score). It was awesome. There were some amazing slammers there including one Austin Egos National Team member and two Neo Soul National Team members. In short, some people who I have mad respect for. I had some really great friends there to support me...overall, it was amazing. I am still high from it. Thank you to anyone who listened to my ramblings last night! I really appreciated all the love!

3:46 PM or Words

You don't care
About words
And yet you call yourself a poet
But I call you a punk

Words are beautiful, yes
But just like a woman
If you focus merely on her beauty
And not on her meat
Not on what lies beneath her breath
Then you're missing the point

Your "poems" are all glitter
They lack weight and substance
All it takes is one (sigh)
And your pretty little poems
Disappear in to thick air
Leaving nothing
Which is all you really had to say in the first place

You choose your words
Based on what sounds best to you at that time
Which is fine
But don't tell me you mean it, mother fucker.
Because I choose my words based on their truth.
I choose words that live in the pit of my stomach
And stop my heart as they glide up through my body and out of my mouth
I choose words with jagged edges
And crooked corners
With letters that are far from faultlessly formed
And often in the wrong order
That have traveled a long way
And have a damn good story to tell

I choose words that confuse my tongue
And leave it twisted and stuttering
Over ideas that are too big for my body to contain
For a moment longer
I choose words that trip and fall
Out of my mouth in their haste to obtain some leg room.

Even though they may not fit perfect and pristine
Within the framework of the pretty little picture
You imagine you create,
My words dance and sing and float away only when they
Feel like it

See I followed you around
Collecting your all of your words in a shoebox
That I kept under my bed
So that every night I could study them
And learn them
Until I could repeat them all in my sleep backwards.
I made them my sustenance
My home
And my security
But Girl cannot live by lies alone
So I'm giving them all back

You can have your weightless words.
You can have each and every one back.
Because I know words.
I know tone. and intonation. and emphasis. and body language
And I know that what you are saying
Is what you wish you meant.

So I figure its your turn now
See, I have spent way too much time with your words
Far more than you ever did
So now that you have them back
I will leave you two alone
So you can get more acquainted