We're Not Listening
(A/N: My first slam poem, inspired by Advanced Creative Writing Class.)

Think outside the spoon because
there is no box
to lock yourself in, but
tinned words and canned emotions
are the vomit of the tanned teens' devotions
trying to stand on this stable land
but falling, folding, cold in the dark
after sunny childhoods
in happy neighbourhoods of
sidewalk chalk, candy necklaces and balloons
now it's gloom, wilted blooms,
empty bedrooms, futures looming
and storms brewing
—chew on that—but don't swallow.
You porcelain dolls
rats of the malls
sitting in clean bathroom stalls
silencing your cell phone calls.
Your train of thought derailed,
the conductor blinded by the blonde in a bottle
throttled by candy necklaces
swaddled in 180 dollar jeans:
pre-ripped, pre-faded—
the truth is unstated: that's how you were created;
it's unrelated
to the manufactured dread,
the regulation sadness in your head—
instead you can always
follow the crumbs of bread
home to your sugarspun bed
safe in your house of gingerbread
moan and groan
you're alone, you're alone
blown like a leaf in autumn
you've got to get to the bottom
of all this garbage,
this burning wreckage of your
candy-coated life
it's all anger and strife
and maybe the answer coats the edge of a knife,
gloats and floats out of reach
but you'll preach
you'll write a speech you label poetry
crow it from a tree
your love-and-death melody
you'll shove it into our hands
demand and command
that we feel it too.
Well, poet, peel the illusions from your eyes
it's only your suburban lies
and if you rhyme die with cry, eyes glistening—
We're not listening.