In Seattle they have a saying: It's not about the points, it's about the POETRY. And yet poets from around the world flock to the Slams to read, to perform, and to share their work for points. It's a somewhat sadistic thing to do...to get on the mic and in three minutes or less (with a 10 second grace period) read the bloody ink of your soul to a group of strangers who may not get, may not like it, and might even hold up a score card that reads 0. And yet still there are some of us who have this strange compulsion to be heard, to get on stage, put it out there and hold our breath waiting for that first inkling of response, a laugh, a sigh, anything that says there is someone out there listening and understanding. And if we're lucky we'll get it just right and the judges who could be the anyone from Toni Morrison to some douche bag who has never read or written a poem in his or her entire life, will hold up a score card with the perfect 10. It's a high.
So after more than a full year of resisting this compulsion, I slammed tonight, in the city of my birth, Des Moines, Iowa with 16 other poets (because unlike Seattle they don't cap at 8) and I won! Since there were so many of us, we only did two rounds. The top 8 went on to round 2. I read Stupid Break Up Poem #46 and of course as a follow-up The Afro-Petting Zoo Is Closed: A Public Service Announcement In 3 Parts. And my mom was there to see me win. It was a good night.
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