This is one reason I try to go to the local Youth Speaks Teen Poetry Slam every year. Last week’s event, held in San Francisco, was part of the 16th annual “Grand Slam Finals,” in which 13 young poets, winnowed down from over a hundred, compete in front of a large crowd to be one of five going to the national championship event in July. The competition is open to any youth 13-19 years old in the greater Bay Area, and as last evening’s MC Josh Healy put it, “Teachers might encourage a promising poet to compete, and the poet might first think ‘well, at least it might be a way to get out of class’ — but then wind up here in front of thousands.” Poets reading their work are graded by a star panel of judges and the tallied votes determine who moves forward to the next round.

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GAMBLING ADDICTION

A poem written and performed by Gretchen Carvajal 

Mama and Papa,
You’ve been hiding from my poetry slams.
You still haven’t watched a full show,
Still haven’t told me that my voice sounds just like my grandmother’s,
Cuz you’re too busy gambling to the point where slot machine jackpots are drowning the childhood you have cashed out of me.
Your arms so swollen from pulling machine levers
But still isn’t strong enough to push my hair out of my face
When I’m crying,
If my tears sounded like dropping quarters will you pay more attention?
I’m done tolerating your poker face,
Great parents are only as good as their last transaction,
That’s all it ever was for you.
See distance we have created like card table to tacky casino carpet
Can’t you see my papier-mâché heart cracking at every shut door?
Or are you really that blinded by dollar signs and triple 7s?
Too numb never feeling phantom hugs that happen every evening
Too numb never sense my heartstrings popping out of pitch with every ring of that casino
But not numb enough to count numbers of dollars they lose,
I’m choking on my own fear of confronting you.
Can’t muster up the courage to tell you
To Stop Loving the feel of fuzzy card tables,
The site of neon lights
The sound of the ringing addiction
More than you love me.
Sometimes I wonder if you think of me when you’re gambling,
Do you see my face in Chinese mahjong characters?
Or do you see my tuition being paid off with every poker chip you win?
Can you sense my reflection behind cards?
This Roulette spin has become more than just a game,
It has transformed into the roll the dice relationship called us,
I have been trying to play peek-a-boo with our memories for the last 5 years,
Does it excite you?
That you’re blind betting our relationship away?
I’m beyond exhausted at the thought of eating take-out like it’ll cover the cost of you leaving,
The last minute deliveryman is starting to look like a foster parent,
Ready to take back your neglected investments
I am not a part time job,
I am your child.
And I’ve spent too many days wondering,
If you smile around me as much as you smile around money,
Too many nights asking myself if I’m not worth your time,
Having to compete with your attention like Franklin, Washington, and Hamilton were my over achieving siblings,
I’ve spent too many days where you called in the morning telling me you’re in traffic when I hear blackjack giggles in the background,
It hurts that you think I’m that dumb.
If you wanted me to act like an ignorant bystander
All you had to do was ask.
I’ll build you a bridge,
From here to your casino out of my limbs,
And maybe I’ll feel it when you come and go.
Cuz lately I have felt nothing,
Core numbing by the doorstep where I kiss you goodbye,
Maybe if I change my name to jackpot,
You’ll realize that all the riches in the world
Are right in front of you.

Today we wrote about the wars we fight everyday. There is power in both naming the struggles we encounter and imagining strategies for survival. Before we approached the page, we opened up a collective dialogue about our fears and dreams; the forces against us and the tools we possess to fight back. We talked about everything from the over bearing expectation’s of our loved ones to the urgency of California’s education crisis. We agreed that our ability to wield the power of language is a weapon capable of transforming despair into possibility — we can reclaim what has been taken from us by writing our stories and speaking them back into the world. Here is a poem from one of our emergent voices, Sarah O’Neal, 16:

I live in a lie
compartmentalized
separate states of being
i don’t know the real me
when there are so many
old habits die hard
evolved into zombies
apocalyptic fighting
the first steps to real change
is acknowledgement
caught in a vicious cycle
aren’t I facing it by writing it?
the change hasn’t come
and I’m not one to be patient
i’ve fooled the ones I hold closest
sometimes myself
repeated so many times
it becomes truth
this wasn’t the plan
to be a disappointment
a person of words
with no action to back it