P.S. to The Aftermath and Spoken Word

December 25, 2012

This is the long delayed, supposed-to-be-introduction-but-ended-up-as-postscript, of the previous post, The Aftermath.

In the past few months, since I read the book Slammed by Colleen Hoover, I've become literally addicted to spoken word poetry. A quick word on the book: I dont really remember whether I liked the story a lot or not, but I think it was kinda nice. What really stuck in my head for a long time after I finished was the poetry in it. Let's get this straight. This is not simple, normal poetry. At first, when I started reading it, I really didn't understand how to read it. I dont know if I'm the only one who does this, but whatever I read, I kinda read with expression, and all that inflection in my voice; even if I'm reading it all in my head. Tell me I'm not the only one! Anyways, I didn't know how to read the verses in it. I couldn't find any rhyme, or rhythm to it, and what boggled my mind was all those bolded & italicized words! (is that right? 'bolded'?) I didn't know why they were like that, and if they were typos, I was getting really annoyed.  Check out a few samples of it below:

“My name is Olivia King

I am five years old.

My mother bought me a balloon. I remember the day she walked through the front door with it. The curly hot pink ribbon trickling down her arm, wrapped around her wrist. She was smiling at me as she untied the ribbon and wrapped it around my hand.

“Here Livie, I bought this for you.”

She called me Livie.

I was so happy. I’d never had a balloon before. I mean, I always saw balloons wrapped around other kids wrists in the
parking lot of Wal-Mart, but I never dreamed I would have my
very own.

My very own pink balloon.” 


and, one of my favourites from the book: (it's a little long, but it worth every word in it)

BLUE SWEATER

Bom Bom...
 

Bom Bom...
 

Bom Bom...
 

Do you hear that?
 

That's the sound of my heart beating...

Bom Bom...
 

Bom Bom...

Bom Bom...

Do you hear that? That's the sound of your heart beating.

It was the first day of October. I was wearing my blue sweater, you know the one I bought at Dillard’s? The one with a double knitted hem and holes in the ends of the sleeves that I could poke my thumbs through when it was cold but I didn't feel like wearing gloves? It was the same sweater you said made my eyes look like reflections of the stars on the ocean.

You promised to love me forever that night...

and boy

did you

ever!


It was the first day of December this time. I was wearing my blue sweater, you know the one I bought at Dillard’s? The one with a double knitted hem and holes in the ends of the sleeves that I could poke my thumbs through when it was cold but I didn't feel like wearing gloves? It was the same sweater you said made my eyes look like reflections of the stars on the ocean.

I told you I was three weeks late

You said it was fate.

You promised to love me forever that night...

and boy

did you

ever!


It was the first day of May. I was wearing my blue sweater, although this time the double stitched hem was worn
and the strength of each thread tested as they were pulled tight against my growing belly. You know the one. The same one I bought at Dillard’s? The one with holes in the ends of the
sleeves that I could poke my thumbs through when it was cold
but I didn't feel like wearing gloves? It was the same sweater
you said made my eyes look like reflections of the stars on the
ocean.

The SAME sweater you RIPPED off of my body as

you shoved me to the floor,

calling me a whore ,

telling me

you didn't love me

anymore.

Bom Bom...

Bom Bom...

Bom Bom...

Do you hear that? That's the sound of my heart beating.

Bom Bom...

Bom Bom...

Bom Bom...

Do you hear that? That's the sound of your heart
beating.

(There is a long silence as she clasps her hands to her stomach, tears streaming down her face)

Do you hear that? Of course you don't. That's the silence
of my womb.

Because you

RIPPED

OFF
 

MY

SWEATER!


Packs a punch, doesn't it? That's what's so great about spoken word!

Finally, when I couldn't take it anymore ('cause at least half of the book has poems), I looked up slam poetry in Google (I really LOVE Google! I mean, imagine where we'd all be if it weren't there!). And from there, I went to spoken word poetry, and then... I got hooked. I began searching for videos on YouTube, where I found the amazing Sarah Kaye and Phil Kaye, among other similarly amazing people (and no, they're not related. Check out their freakily awesome story here: An Origin Story). This is my one of my favourites from her:






Spoken Word Poetry is really great people.There's no rhyme, there's no rhythm, and there needn't even be any reason in it to anyone except you! You can even just put together a bunch of words, and it becomes spoken word (provided you recite it properly, that is).

Ever since I've discovered it, I've wanted to try it out. You know, go out of my usual writing style, and try something new. But I was waiting for something to come along that I felt really strongly about. 'Something' came along some weeks back, and that was how I wrote 'The Aftermath'.

It was a little hard for me not to slip into my usual style (the rhythm, the 4 verses in a stanza...), but I think I've managed a good first try. Though I do wish I didn't have the habit of literally spelling out everything without any masking using all those poetry elements, so that not every Tom, Dick and Harry knows what I'm talking about. I really love how the poet might be meaning something, but something entirely different comes out in paper, and no one except the poet know what the poem really is about. Its like a coded letter out in the open, but no one can break the code! (I know, that sounds dumb, but it probably comes from me being really into covert stuff)

So yeah, that's what 'The Aftermath' is all about, and if you had any trouble reading it before, I hope you get it now. Let me know what you think! I'd love that!