Issa Slam

I guess that if I gotta be alive
I might as well be very alive.

I’m so tired of fucking bullshit.
I’m so tired of pretending I care when I’d rather flee.
I’m so tired of creating poetry that makes sense to everyone but to me.
I’m so tired of revisioning, tired of “eating green” and counting every fucking minute of this very absurd daydream.
I’m tired of the dances with no heart and I’m tired of the pizzas with no cheese.
I’m tired of blind screens and I’m tired of shushing my own me.

I find myself in a big ass town that tastes like cigarette smoke and feels like isolation,
the nightlights cringe like our teeth do at night
rich bodies with hollow souls dreaming about beaches and sand at night
sandcastles, when was the last time you built one?

Escapism is normalized and procreation is rationalized
dehumanized, re-colonized and classified
Can we turn that radar off and look at the nightsky, just for one more time
Can you see your grandma in a star?

Don’t tell me to shut up.
Have you ever heared of Italy?

I got 22 years, I’m a white ass chick privileged as shit but I won’t shut up cause I grew up in a place where life for some people don’t taste that sweet as you’d think and
fourteen years old babies are catcalled on the streets
Yes there’s sun everyday but try to walk on those streets
men looking at you like you’re dead meat, worthy only of words formed with spit
knitted together with pity and envy, and you are fourteen.
At fourteen, a man in a bus rubbed his dick on my knee. And I did not speak.
In my country, you’ll see beauty and soul but you know, you won’t see that many young folks. There’s desert on the asphalt – we’ve all fled, chasing the American Dream.

The American Dream.
I came to North America THREE years ago for the first time
and look, I already talk like y’all! Shit!
Ain’t it funny? Ain’t it crazy how modern day life is just a damn reflection of North American nay-nay?
A dream the 1% sells for free, and we buy it
waiting for redemption, forgetting ’bout our nation, our fathers,
our lovers, sons and daughters, selling our own MOTHER,
Planet Earth. Treated like toilet paper, cheap labour and abandoned graveyards
of a human culture once spiritual. Those days are gone.

I came to North America for the first time three years ago and all I could see were big bright signs of my people’s food spelled funnily, and it bothered me.
Did you know that in my native tongue, “latte” means milk so all you’ve been drinking this whole time was a pumpkin spice extra tall mother fucking MILK?
I’d be nice if I could tilt what American values have built
a nation of cultural appropriation
not even ashamed of calling cocoons “silk”.

We all hate Western capitalism but let’s admit it. We are so
scared
to say a goddamn thing. Day to day we grin, and keep it in.
We’re all the same, down on our knees,
paying for an orgasm and
begging for love like a priest begs for sins.
Raised like chicken and killed like beef
meat on the table, human flesh, objectification,
let’s take a knee.

So many times I was too proud to ask for help
a white beard started growing from my chin
young flesh but old soul, I was trying to keep the world afloat
with my own two hands, handles of flesh, but I can’t
heal who rejoices in pain anymore.

I fell to the ground and cast a spell.
The spell was the one of Unity. Compassion. Patience, Kindness, Self Growth,
raising my voice, speaking out loud, I grew to be proud
of my own self doubt. And started the healing process all over again.

I know nothing but what I know is that
we gotta take it slow.

Honey, we gotta

  1. See what’s real
  2. Remember the neighbours
  3. and listen to the bubbly, beautiful, buzzing bees
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