enjoy my work. i post what i write, what i see, and what it means to me. good or bad, comment away.


i'm on youtube!

One of the poets from a local performance team called the Unusual Suspects named Carolina Blu posted some videos on YouTube from the last slam here in Columbia, in which I placed 4th. The sound quality is bad, but if you work with the sound on your speakers and the sound in the video player on the site, you can understand what I'm saying. I need to memorize my stuff so I don't have to look at the stand and can use my hands differently, but I enjoyed it. Check it out for yourself!

Round one: My 7th Grade Mind

Round two: Porn is Bad, Mmmk?

attempts at haiku

I don't really care for haiku all that much, but here are a few that I have written recently for the sake of expanding my poetic experience.

1) i don't like haiku
being concise won't work with
my verbosity

2) light it up, breathe in
never to be free again
nicotine shackles
(inspired by an anti-smoking drawing by a student at Alcorn Middle School)

3) smell of sweet salt air
sounds of waves causing smiles

4) children in the streets
calluses on soles and souls
no shoes on small feet

5) first day of bright sun
pale skin used to long sleeves
white now painted red


if i had known that awaited me as i hobbled
into the locker room at the public pool
that day, i wouldn't have so readily told
my mother i'd meet her out front on my own.

nursing the raw patches of skin on my feet
from the rough pool bottom, belying the
the impending rawness of fear, paralyzing.

there were two of them.
i'm not sure how old but certainly well beyond
my eight years of naivete that i carried
over my shoulder with my towel,
eight years of purity dripping down my body
with the chlorine pool water too weak
with irony to cleanse me.

i did not know that sitting alone on a
bench of innocence is an open invitation
for attempted molestation.

"hey," one said. "you wanna see a dick?"

my nervously choked refusal wasn't quite strong enough;
not stronger than the smell of fear on which
his canine mind capitalized.
they approached, i cowered.
no reproach, mouth soured.

only eight with a dick in my face
cheshire cat smile, taste of bile,
smell of pool water beguiles my senses.
fear frozen, eyes closing...
loss of innocence approaching.

i'm not quite sure how much time past,
happened too fast. like a voice calling out
in the wilderness, i hear my name echo through
the locker room.
the wolves scatter and
my innocence follows me like
mary's little lamb out into the sun's
salvation light.
wool slightly stained but as of yet
still unshorn.

my verse works

UPDATE: At the bottom of this poem is now a video of me performing this piece as the Sacrifice before the pre-Southern Fried practice slam between Unusual Suspects and the VerseWorks team. The first line is cut off, but it's good quality. Enjoy!

I spit poems like metaphorical chloroform,
Knocking you out and sending your neurological
Pathways into an electrical firestorm.
From my mouth, clich├ęs are reborn.
Words transform like a new dawn.
Ideas unformed take shape,
Erupt from my mouth like a lion’s roar.

I give life to my words like Frankenstein
Did to his monster.
I’m not done, sir.
Spray rhymes like a super-soaker.

A serial scribe with ethereal rhymes
Everything I say a lyrical miracle,
My material will infect your mind
Like venereal disease.
Take me in too quickly, give you brain freeze
I’m a brain tease.

Voice paints mental images with ease that would make
Da Vinci jealous. My rhetoric is what makes
Mona Lisa smile. Just wait a while
You’ll see why. I’ll write till my pen runs out
Leave no doubt that my words
Carry existential poetic clout.

And if and when you come, come prepared.
Enter on a pipe dream, leave in a nightmare.
My words echo in your ear like a mic stuck on reverb
Repetition absurd (repetition absurd).

So pay attention undividedly
Because you will never
Write quite like me.


I worked with her twice a week, pulling her from her related arts classes to help her learn to read better. She seemed grateful at first; quiet, compliant, presumably eager to learn.

But then she told them that I was a pervert.
Told them I would tell her that she’s pretty.
Said I would try to hold her hand in the hallway.
Accused me of following her into the girls’ locker room.

My breath catches in my chest as I instantly distress over potential career death.
No reputation left. Those three words fester in my mind.

No. Reputation. Left.

Her words like poison, dripping down my throat along with a lump the size of my future.

What could possess a youth seemingly so innocent
to cause me such detriment with her verbal excrement.
I’m innocent!
How impudent can she be?
Is she that selfish that she cannot see that I’ve sacrificed 5 years, endless late nights, internal will-fights, and $80,000 to dedicate my life to hers.
I just wanted to help you!
You’re in 6th grade and cannot read!
I just wanted to help you!

Never in my life have I EVER considered crossing that line.
11 years old and knows enough that those accusations will cause a sensation wild enough
This child’s enough to ruin me.
With just a few words, she’s abused seemingly unmitigated power.
My spirit aches as I watch my dreams soar away on the wind of her deceit.
A verbal zephyr with ends immeasurable.
And I just want to collapse.

But I refuse to spend the rest of my life on a list where I have to introduce myself to my neighbors as a child molester. I will not accept defeat. And by the grace of God I can stand knowing that there are those who believe in me and my integrity. A principal who believes me and knows how to crack a liar. And I can walk through halls with my head held high because I’m safe. I’m trusted.

And I am not a pervert.