Liberation

Yesterday was the kind of day that in comparison to today, makes today look shitty even though it's been a perfectly adequate day. Today has been grey and blah, which would be fine if it weren't that yesterday, the sun was out and I was productive and I spent a ton of time with friends being silly and making trouble.

The most fantastic part of yesterday was at approximately 9 PM, Philly, her boy toy of the moment, and I walked into a little coffee shop/hookah bar in Denver. After some witty banter with a barista in a 1950s dress and pin up hair (which are two things one generally doesn't encounter at the average coffee shop), we headed to this secret downstairs area where there were couches and and a little stage space where people were slamming poetry.

Shpongle was there because I told him to be, but he had to leave after like ten minutes. My God, he's just too adorable. Although I was testing him today and he dropped the d-word (date) which I am not sure how I feel about. He then proceeded to drop the s-word (sex) and my guard went way up. I like the kid too much to have sex with him... how fucked up is that? BUT I shall continue that tangent another day.

Poetry slam. Right.
SO Philly's boy toy signed up to read, and I was like "screw it" so I put my name on the list too. I figured I still knew my poetry interp from last season, I could just un-censor all the stuff that I had censored for debate season and be a little sassier about things and shit would turn out ok.

Philly's boy toy went up and was quite good.

Then I went up. I was probably the youngest person in the entire place and I probably looked like a ridiculous outsider; me, this tiny teenaged white girl among mature black women, grad students, and old-school hipsters. But then I slammed my poems and I had the black women on their feet and the hipsters coyly snapping their fingers in approval in an effort to show approval without ruining their carefully crafted façades of aloof detachment.

Philly and her boy were quite surprised. Evidently, they had not expected much from me. I am, first and foremost, a performer. My home is a stage (when it's not a hospital bed, lol) and when I am in the zone, I FUCKING KICK ASS. Just saying.

I was quite proud of myself; I think I'm going to drag Philly back for another slam or two.

Anyway, the end result of all this is that now, for the first time in a while, I'm inspired. Slamming was such a liberation, I can't wait to write something of my own and do it again. I've found a new avenue to enlightenment and I can't wait to walk down it.

The thing is, I've never really written poetry for anything other than class. I don't know where to begin.

Suggestions?
Julia

PS: The white-bleached-blonde hair is making a reappearance this weekend. I just missed it too much.