mY voiCE iS noT A coMPeTiTioN

mY voiCE iS noT A coMPeTiTioN

(Listen to this Slam Poem here: https://bethisbell.bandcamp.com/track/bonus-my-voice-is-not-a-competition-slam-poem )

My voice is not a competition. 

Call it intuition, superstition, 
Fascination of intrepidation, 
The need to express myself 
Has deep roots and only 
the best of intentions. 

But still, it does not compete. 

Sublime, this world of rhyme, 
My imagination fine, 
As I run the next line, 
Always thinking good time, 
As my soul starts to shine. 

Hearing the fleet backbeat, 
Romanticizing dark city streets, 
I am hypnotized by the rhythm 
Of the chaos of the night, 
As the poets' souls take flight, 
And their sounds soar like angels 
While their demons come home to roost, 
And I, in the middle of it all, 
Stand tall, drinking in this experience 
Like my life depended on it 
Because it does, but still 

My voice is not a competition. 

It is the peace I find, 
The innermost truth, 
My real self captured 
in a paper picture booth. 
Vulnerable and venerable, 
Soft and delicate, except 
When it needs to soar. I share 
Fine lines and fun times, and 
The world's greatest pleasure, 
In the words of the poets 
I truly treasure. 

But still, my voice does not compete. 

Passionate, and strong, 
With killer rhymes 
Singing life's sweet song, 
My voice cannot be denied, 
When this soul from inside 
Becomes one with the air 
And my words make contact, 
Have impact, and explode. 

But I am not here to gather your vote, 
But instead, to float, to inspire, to connect, 
And cast collective hope, for ideas 
That save our souls, and the planet 
For us both. To live in rhyme, 
And find like minds, who together, 
Partake in the sublime. 

But, my voice is not a competition. 

It is, instead, the finest of wine, 
From recesses earth deep 
And tastes like a secret, 
You simply can't keep 
To yourself. 

But still, my voice does not compete. 

For I relish the words, 
Of all my good friends, 
Who go through great lengths, 
And passionate ends, again 
And again, time again and again. 
Constructing rhythms and rhymes, 
To unveil the most exquisite of lines, 
Which propel me to think and to feel, 
To laugh like I'm human, and cry like child, 
And carry my soul above what is real 
To the plain of the transcendent, 
Where I love to reside. And go wild. Because, 

For me, poetry is meant to be shared 
And, my voice is not a competition.

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