Slam Poetry is often one of the most powerful ways to express emotions. For my major project, I wrote a series of three slam poems from disabled characters points of view. This allowed me to get into the characters head, and try to feel exactly as they felt, so I could get a better understanding of what it is like to live with that particular disability. I wrote way more than I ended up needing, as I ended up writing about 13 pages of poetry. For these three poems I picked The Creation from Frankenstein, Boo Radley from To Kill a Mockingbird, and Shadrack from Sula. I chose to do this project specifically, because I have often turned to writing poetry to help me cope with my mental disabilities. Writing is a beautiful outlet where all emotions can be let go. Nothing is more raw, than a poem.
In “The Creation,” I conveyed The Creations ongoing battle with himself. Within the first few years of his existence he questioned whether he was a monster or not. Of the three poems I wrote, this one was the most challenging. Of all the disabled characters I depicted, The Creation had the highest education, and therefore I feel he would write the most poetic poem of the three. It had the most structure and strictest rhyme scheme. There are 6 stanzas, and 18 lines in each one. This would make for 109 lines in the poem, since they’re actually 19 lines in the first stanza. It follows a rather odd rhyme scheme. It goes: ABBCDDCEECFFGHGHII. Although they are not the same rhymes, the same pattern goes for the rest of the stanzas. The only exception to this is the C rhyme. Throughout the entirety of the poem the C rhyme in all of the stanzas stay the same. This is to show that although all of these events happening in The Creation’s life are occurring at different times, they are all related. Everything that has ever happened to The Creation has shaped him into who he became; a monster. Although that term is up for debate.
In “Boo Radley,” I went over Boo leaving gifts in the tree for the kids, from his view. In this particular poem I broke a little farther out of what the text gave us. I imagined up scenarios between Boo Radley and his family during this time. While writing this text, I focused more on telling a story rather than having poetic elements. Of my poems, this one is the shortest, with just 65 lines. There’s no consistent rhyme scheme or any structure within the poem. This disorganized order has been implemented to showcase the randomness of the gifts Boo gave the children. This was the darkest of all my poems, which seems rather ironic seeing that one was about suicide and the other about murder. We don’t know what happens to Boo Radley behind closed doors, but when your family keeps you locked inside a house, one can assume it isn’t pretty. I touched on issues of self harm and abuse, because I honestly believe that’s what Boo went through.
In “Shadrack,” I covered the thoughts of Shadrack over the course of seven National Suicide Days. I had one stanza for each year. I had originally planned to write all the years covered in the book, but I felt as if by not doing them all, there’s more emphasis on the years that have been written about. For each stanza I focused more on what was happening around Shadrack more than Shadrack himself. I wanted to show that Shadrack was more aware -and just how deeply they affected him- of the happenings of the town than the book let on. This is proven, when he remembers and respects the one visitor he had for a few minutes ,for the rest of his life. I allowed myself to have ten lines in each stanza, and seven stanzas. This adds up to have 70 lines in the poem, but since there is one line standing alone at the end it is actually 71. This is the only poem of my three that doesn’t have any rhyme whatsoever. National Suicide Day was the one day a year that Shadrack accepted utter chaos and disorder. Having rhyme would only take away from this theme.
Word Count: 724
The Creation
Am I a monster?
I was not built to be feared and ridiculed.
There was a time I was desired,
The mere idea of me was admired.
Of having one’s own pet on a chain.
The idea of my existence came from a question,
That quickly grew into an obsession.
That could make any man go insane.
My creator slaved over my body for years,
He persevered through the blood, sweat, and tears.
He gave me life with a heart and a brain.
It never came to his senese,
All the possible consequences.
I awoke to see my God’s utter terror,
Never had I known a face so grim.
And maybe I made my error,
When I smiled at him.
Like a monster.
I am not a monster.
I found solace in the arms of mother nature.
When my God decided to run,
She treated me like her own son.
I weaved through the days in her mane.
I slept on grass and rocks and mud,
And drank from a stream of her blood.
When my stomach groaned in pain.
She pressed me to her chest,
And fed me from her breast.
So much knowledge I had yet to gain.
Her lips looked so red and warm,
They took on no true form.
As all my thoughts were overturned,
I leant in to kiss those lips I adored.
And how it burned!
I ROARED!
Like a monster.
I am not a monster.
There comes a time when the bird must leave the nest.
So I left my mother in search of more,
Wondering what life could have in store.
As the days went on, I began to drain.
With every labored breath,
I began to crave a sudden death.
Anything that would end this reign.
Not too far off there was a small village,
A beacon of hope that I could raid and pillage.
No longer could I keep myself detained.
The night was cold and my feet were sore,
So I began knocking on every door.
Her eyes held so much fear,
That I could not comprehend her plea.
They withdrew their pitchforks and spears,
And banished me.
Like a monster.
I am not a monster.
I trudged through woods unknown to many.
Yearning for a place to rest my head,
I found privacy in an abandoned shed.
My own palace to maintain.
But behind those sturdy walls,
Laid my own set of china dolls.
Their happiness coursed through my veins.
Of all the places I had roamed,
I felt that I had finally found a home.
How much I loved them was insane.
I had to reveal myself, it had been too long,
But I didn’t expect it to go so wrong.
I quickly longed to take it all back,
But the deed had already been done.
When their beautiful bodies cracked,
I had to run.
Like a monster.
I am not a monster.
I sought out my God’s native land.
All I had ever learned was that humans were ruthless,
And I wanted to beat him, ‘til he was toothless.
But upon seeing her, my resentment rested in vain.
I felt myself begin to shiver,
As she drowned in the river.
She looked as if she had made love with the rain.
Her skin was so cold and pale,
A sight to behold for any male.
Such a beautiful situation couldn’t remain.
The man entered the clearing in such a blur,
And concluded that I was going to kill her.
I shouldn’t have been surprised,
But I didn’t even have a chance to flee.
I stood there paralyzed,
And he shot at me.
Like a monster.
I am not a monster.
I had nearly lost all hope of ever finding a companion.
But millions of people walked these lands,
Surely one could see past my beast like hands.
A young boy appeared out of the domain.
Surely he was so pure and uncorrupted,
Like a volcano that hasn’t erupted.
Hanging out of his pocket was a chain.
His eyes met mine with a shriek,
Before my lips even parted for a squeak.
Never had a human caused such pain.
He was the brother of my creator,
Therefore he was the brother of a traitor.
I wished to strangle him until he turned blue,
Tear him apart limb by limb.
Anything to get my point through!
So I killed him.
Like a monster.
I am a monster.
Boo Radley
Jean Louise and Jem Finch were my best friends.
They just didn’t know it.
As reckless as Jem was
Sometimes he was so cautious,
It drove his sister nauseous.
But Scout.
Although she was small,
Her curiosity stood tall.
I knew she would see the treasures.
I left two pieces of gum.
It was a safe start.
I had a whole pack,
But patience was an art.
My father proposed to my mother with a purple velvet box.
Once the ring reached her finger and lips in a kiss,
The box was deserted.
I put that very box in the tree,
Where they would find,
That two pennies were inserted.
They no longer had value to me,
But to them, they would be one of a kind.
I left a ball of twine for them to find next.
I don’t even quite know what they will do with it.
But it was good for fixing
Broken nets,
And broken pants,
And broken men.
I take my time on the next gift.
It’s a soap carving of the two of them.
Before my enslavement, I never knew how to carve.
But when your family is whittling away your heart,
And leaving you to practically starve,
You get a rough idea where to start.
I was so focused on the hair.
I nicked myself more than I would like to admit,
But I didn’t care.
They were worth it.
I knew they had to be missing the gum.
And we had progressed far enough in our exchange,
That I could give them the whole pack,
Without it seeming anything less than strange.
My brother won a spelling medal.
It’s been rusting away in a crate,
He hasn’t touched it since he was eight.
Rather than letting it sit and collect dust,
It would be better in my friend’s trust.
In that very crate the medal lied,
Was my father’s broken pocket watch.
Dangling from it’s chain,
Was the knife I used to trace my veins.
Weeks since I had last opened my arms,
I gave it up, to heal the harm.
Everything had been in such good fun,
Until my brother discovered what I had done.
My brother’s rage knew no bounds,
As he released the hounds.
He gave me front row seating,
To my own personal beating.
He pried my eyes open wide,
And made me watch on in frustration,
As the knot in the tree died,
My only form of communication.
He took that from me.
He took them from me.
He took it all from me.
Shadrack
January 3rd, 1920
Two days after New Years.
When the goals and revolutions,
Were still fresh in their minds.
This was the only way,
The rest of the year could be safe.
With a cowbell in one hand,
And hangman’s rope in the other,
It was National Suicide Day!
Now was the perfect time to die,
Two days after New Years.
January 3rd, 1921
Two days after New Years.
When the memories of Eva’s husband leaving,
Were still fresh in her mind.
She had 3 kids,
2 legs,
1 ex-husband,
And 0 reasons to live.
She didn’t know it, but
Now was the perfect time to die,
Two days after New Years.
January 3rd, 1923
Two days after New Years.
When Chicken Little’s death,
Was still fresh in their minds.
He died three days after,
I had a visitor.
She always left.
She always would.
I had found a friend in this child.
Now was the perfect time to die,
Two days after New Years.
January 3rd, 1924
Two days after New Years.
When the death of Hannah,
Was still fresh in their minds.
The fire in her eyes lingered,
Within the eyes of her daughter.
She burned through her path
From the start,
To the end.
Now was the perfect time to die,
Two Days after New Years.
January 3rd, 1938
Two days after New Years.
When the thought of Sula’s return
Was still fresh in their minds.
My friend was once so small,
She use to fit in the palm of my hand.
But now she had grown.
And we had become one in the same.
She was an outcast, much like me.
Now was the perfect time to die,
Two Days after New Years.
January 3rd, 1942
Two days after New Years.
When the death of Sula,
Was still fresh in their minds.
But this year was different.
This year they opened their shutters,
And came outside.
They danced through the streets,
Down to the tunnel,
Raining of pure cement.
Now was the perfect time to die,
Two days after New Years.
I just wish I died with them.
