On The Power of Words - Slam Poem

A not-so-wise man once told me, “Writing is for people too foolish to do anything that really matters.”

Oh? Is that so? Well...

I am a teller of stories. I believe in the power of words.

I use nouns and verbs to fill the quiet galleries of your mind with paintings of my own creation.

I use vowels and consonants to create and carry out catastrophes over the course of thousands of characters.

These are the tools at my disposal
To make you care
To make you listen
To make you think
To make you understand

Some of you may call me
a freak
a fag
a fool

But Richard Rodriguez taught me that my humanity is beautiful
The Williams Faulkner and Shakespeare taught me to love words for their own sake
Miguel de Cervantes taught me to dream impossible dreams.
And John Green showed me that some infinities are bigger than others.

I put heart to shoulder,
fingers to keys,
pen to paper and
I write...

For what is a story if not an ephemeral glimpse into the mind of another?

So what glimpses shall I share with you?

Charlie.

See, he smells like everything green.
Like pine needles, mint, envy, and fresh-cut grass.
Hi, says he. Hi, says me.
My hands begin to shake, and I say a punchline to draw attention somewhere else, and he smiles. Oh, does he smile.
He smiles like a summer breeze in mid-september,
reminding me of where I’ve been, and where I’m going.
Seeing him is all at once refreshing and nostalgic.

Writer’s block, word association, nostalgic.
Nostalgic.
Nostalgia.
Memory.
Tragedy.
David.

To whom it may concern, at approximately 7:03PM, he sent a text to his then-boyfriend saying “Goodnight, I love you.”
To whom it may concern, at approximately 7:18PM, he climbed every flight of stairs, walked out onto the roof, and jumped.
To whom it may concern, yes, he survived the fall.
To whom it may concern, no, he did not survive the week.
To whom it may concern, yes, I still think about him; no, I do not still love him. And yes, I feel guilty for this.

My mind swims with the fractured pieces of a narrative I may never have the strength to fully tell.


All of these fragmented memories transform into stories that demand to be told. Because stories demand to be told.

Because contrary to popular belief, stories matter. Words matter. Writing matters.

Ernest Hemingway once said, “Writing is simple. You simply put a page on the table...and bleed.”

There will always be not-so-wise men telling you that, “Writing is for people too foolish to do anything that really matters.”

But we still put
Heart to shoulder,
Pen to paper,
Fingers to keys.
I write.

Because I am a teller of stories.
I believe in the power of words.