>> Rob Casper: All right.
Are you all ready
for a Poetry Slam?
[applause] Really?
[applause] You're going
to have to do better
when Elizabeth Acevedo
gets up here.
I'm Rob Casper, I'm the head of
the Poetry and Literature Center
at the library of Congress,
and I am thrilled and delighted
to welcome you to the 6th Annual
National Book Festival Book
Poetry Slam.
[ Applause ]
Before I tell you about
the slam, I wanted to say
that The Library of Congress is
thrilled to have this event here
at the Convention
Center every year.
We hope you come back, we
hope you check out all sorts
of events next year
and in years to come.
And we hope you come
to the library,
it's an amazing building,
the Jefferson Building
where the Poetry and
Literature Center is located.
We're thrilled and
honored and excited
to host the First Native Poet
Laureate of the United States,
Joy Harjo on Thursday
September 19th.
[ Applause ]
So, some and see her.
you can check us out
online at loc.gov/poetry.
It's going to be historic,
but of course tonight is
going to be historic too.
So, this years Poetry Slam
has a strong connection
to our very first
slam back in 2014,
which featured D.C. Slammers.
The D.C. Youth Slam Team is
back this year of course,
and big thanks to
Split This Rock
for all their support
with the slam.
Split This Rock, come on.
[ Applause ]
Of course, there's a wealth
of slam talent in the region
that we want to highlight,
so this year we have slammers
from the youth poetry team
from Dew More Baltimore.
[ Applause ]
As well as the Rise Youth Poetry
Team from Phenix Youth Project
in Salisbury Maryland.
[applause] They know how
to cheer in Salisbury.
I'm going to do this little
thing, please indulge me
because I want to just say how
special all these teams are.
We asked each team to fill
us in on their mission
and let us know their thoughts
about attending the slam.
So, let me just say,
Split This Rock sponsors
of the D.C. Youth
slam team wrote,
"Split This Rocks mission
is to cultivate, teach,
and celebrate poetry that
bears witness to injustice
and provokes social change.
Indeed. Split This Rock
champions young voices,
seeing them as key agent
in moving culture forward.
Split This Rock is
excited to participate
in The National Book Festival
because it is an opportunity
to widen youth platforms,
deepen engagement with local
and national literary
communities,
and of course have fun."
So, let's give it up
for Split This Rock.
[ Applause ]
Here's what [inaudible]
Youth Project had to say,
"[inaudible] Youth
Project encourages youth
to use their creative talents
to impact social change
in their community.
The Rise Youth Poetry
Team is excited and ready
to experience this years MBF.
The team hopes to bring back
memories and inspiration
to share back on
the Eastern shore."
So please, give it up for
[inaudible] Youth Project.
[ Applause ]
And finally, Dew More Baltimore
wrote, "We develop safe space,
build writing skills, and
teach youth how to advocate
about issues that impact
them on a daily basis.
We are excited about
participating
in this years MBF Youth Slam
and celebrating the power
and purpose that
story telling can play
in the lives of young people."
Dew More Baltimore, everyone.
[ Applause ]
So, I have one last duty before
I get back up on the stage
to hand out the prizes for
Third, Second, and First Place,
and that is to introduce
our Emcee.
Six years ago, at the first
Youth Poetry Slam we asked a
very promising young
poet to take on the role.
Well, I'm delighted
to say, she's back
and now she's a major
poet and writer.
Elizabeth Acevedo is the New
York Times Best Selling Author
of The Poet X, and
With the Fire on High.
[applause] Where
are you Elizabeth?
There you are.
Come on. As you all
probably know,
The Poet X won the 2018
National Book Award
for Young People's Literature.
Elizabeth has also been the
recipient of the Printz Award
for Excellence in
Young Adult Fiction,
the CILIP Carnegie Medal, the
Boston Globe Hornbook Award,
and the 2019 Pure Belpre
Author Award for celebrating,
affirming, and portraying
Latinx culture and experience.
A National Poetry Slam
Champion, and former Head Coach
of the D.C. Youth Slam Team,
she is also a proud
resident of the district.
Please, join me in
welcoming her to the stage.
[ Applause ]
>> Elizabeth Acevedo:
Good afternoon.
>> Audience: Good afternoon.
>> Elizabeth Acevedo: Don't be
dry, [laughter] don't do that.
This is going to be such
an exciting evening.
I am delighted to be here.
I have not hosted a slam
probably since 2014, [laughter]
and so I am so hyped that
this is the one that I get
to be a part of and to
usher these poets who are
about to come on to the stage.
But there's a couple of things
that need to happen first,
so I'm going to explain
the structure of the night,
I'm going to let
you know your job,
because you are not just hear
to like, sit quietly and listen,
and like pat, pat on your hand,
like you've got to roll as well.
And I'm going to start
off with your role, right?
Because you can't be extra
shy when the poets come
on to the stage, right?
We are talking about poets who
are going to come up to talk
about the issues they
care about, about things
that have happened to them,
about what they find
most important
in the world and in their lives.
And so, I'm going to need you
to show them a lot of love.
So, if a poet comes up to
this stage and they are shy,
and they are scared,
and they are nervous,
and they don't know what kind
of reception they're
going to receive.
When I call their name, how
are you going to respond?
[applause] Okay,
[applause] okay.
>> Audience Member: Let's go.
[applause]
>> Elizabeth Acevedo: Okay.
I mean, that was all
right, that was all right.
[laughter] Let's say,
the youngest member
of your family is about
to touch on this stage,
and they've got a flame poem,
that joint is everything, right?
And you are the person that's
going to have to hype them up,
they are so scared, they
were in the back crying.
How are you going to ensure
that the youngest member
of your family gets all the
love they receive so they can do
that poem to the best
of their ability?
[applause] Okay, okay, okay.
[applause] Word, word,
word, word, word.
[applause] That was
better, that was good.
You're going to have to
maintain that same energy
for approximately twelve
rounds, so keep it up,
[laughter] I believe in
you, you've got this.
All right?
There are going to be twelve
poems you hear, before each one
of those poems, you're
going to do that,
including the Sacrificial Poet,
which I'm going to
explain right now.
So, here is the structure
of this Poetry Slam.
It is two rounds, the first
round is going to be a poem
that is on theme,
all of the writers,
all of the poets you're
going to see received notice
that they had to write a
poem that had something to do
with storytelling, or
literacy, or books,
or at some capacity is
related to this festival,
and that can be anything
from a story they heard,
to a interaction they've had
with the Educational System.
It can be broad, but
it has to be related.
That is the first round,
and there are six poets
who are going to do all of
the poems related on that.
The second round
is an open round,
it is where the poet is going to
get on stage and they're going
to do whatever poem they
have on their heart today,
or whatever they feel
like sharing with you all
in this space in particular.
Make sense?
>> Audience: Yeah.
>> Elizabeth Acevedo: Before
any of those poets come
up here though, we're going to
have to have a Sacrificial Poet.
That is a poet, some folks
giggle because you haven't been
to a slam before, but
this, I'm about to let you
in on the cuteness, slash,
the severity, the savageness,
of what it is to
have a Poetry Slam,
because we don't let anybody get
on stage without spilling blood.
Right? We've got to make sure
that our judges know what
they are about to hear.
We've got to make sure that the
bar is set as high as possible.
So, we invite a poet to the
stage that is not a part
of the slam, and they are
just here to perform the poem
so that we can all get
our temperature check,
so we are prepared
when the poets come up.
So, there are going to be
technically seven poets,
although one of them
will not be repeating
because they are just here
to calibrate the judges.
All right let me make sure I've
got all of my stuff together.
We do have judges.
>> Audience Member: Yea.
>> Elizabeth Acevedo: We do have
judges and they are fantastic,
and I'm going to
tell you about them
in a second, but
first, the rules.
The rules are, all
the poems have
to be three minute
approximately.
We're going to be generous
with that three minutes,
but poets, three minutes.
[laughter] Don't make me come on
stage and like Apollo you out.
Make sure you do
your three minutes.
We are going to make sure that
all of it is original work,
you are not reciting
someone else's poem.
And you are not allowed to
use a costume or a prop.
You are not allowed to do a
team poem, we're not going
to have extra people
come on this stage,
it's just you and this mic.
All right, we're good?
>> Audience: [cheering] Yeah.
>> Elizabeth Acevedo: So now,
I'm going to introduce you all,
although they really
don't need introduction.
Here are the three literary
figures that we have called upon
to ensure that they do
the best they can, right?
To really listen to the
poems, and show generosity
to these poems, and
score these poems.
These three judges are going
to hold up a score card from 0
to 10 after every
single poet is done.
I will then read
those scores out loud
and we will determine the score
that the poet received overall.
This is an incredibly
hard job, right?
And our judges are going to
be mindful that a 0 is like,
this is the worst poem
you've ever heard,
they insulted your mama,
[laughter] they insulted
your great aunt,
they said your cooking
ain't nothing.
[laughter] Like this is,
you've got to really be like,
that is just terrible, right?
That's a 0.
A 10 though, right?
Because sometimes people will
be real quick with their 10's.
You've got to hold you 10's
close, [laughter] right?
You've got to be
mindful of your 10.
You're 10 is like, man, I
just had a sweet potato pie
that smacked me across the
face, I had one of those days
where like I woke up and I
thought I had to go to work,
but then realized it was
Saturday and I got to sleep in.
[laughter] That joyous
moment where you're like,
this is going to be a good day.
If that poem invokes
that feeling in you,
where you're like, I could
hear this, again, and again,
and again, that is a 10.
Everything else is probably
somewhere in between.
[laughter] Aight,
we're good on that?
Word. So, your judges
for tonight,
the people who have
this illustrious job.
The first writer is
Raina Telgemeier.
[applause] Clap it up for Raina.
[applause] Yeah, yeah.
[applause] And I'm going to read
official bios, because I don't
like it when people just be
making stuff up on the spot,
so I'm going to go ahead and
get the words right for Raina.
With more than 15 million
books in print, Raina is one
of the most critically acclaimed
and successful graphic
novelists of her generation.
She is the Number 1 New York
Times bestseller creator
of Smile and Sisters.
[applause] Give it up for that.
[applause] That number
1 spot ain't easy.
>> Audience: You should know.
>> Elizabeth Acevedo:
I'm trying,
[laughter] I'm trying to know.
[laughter] She has received,
for more than four years,
received a Boston
Globe-Horn Book Honor,
as well as the Eisner Award for
the Best Publication for Teens.
And Sisters received the Eisner
Award for Best Writer/Artist.
Telgemeier is also
the creator of Drama,
a fictional graphic novel
that was named An American
Library Association Stonewall
Honor Book and is also a Number
1 New York Time bestseller.
Ghost was her awarded, was
awarded the 2017 Eisner Award
for Best Publication for Kids.
Her recent book is Share
Your Smile: Raina's Guide
to Telling Your Own Story.
Clap it up for Raina.
[ Applause ]
This next writer is
incredibly prolific and one
of my favorite writers of
all time, Julia Alvarez.
[ Applause ]
Julia Alvarez left the Dominican
Republic for the United States
in 1960, at the age of 10.
She is the author of six novels,
three books of Non-Fiction,
three collections of
poetry, and eleven books
for children and young adults.
Alvarez has taught and
mentored writers in schools
and communities across America,
most recently as a writer
in Residents at Middlebury
College,
until her retirement 2016.
She is a cofounder and
convener of Boarder of Lights,
a collective of activists
committed to promoting peace
and solidarity between the
Dominican Republic and Haiti.
In 2009, her novel, In the Time
of the Butterflies was elected
by The National Endowment
for the Arts
for its National
Big Read Program.
Please, clap it up
for Julia Alvarez.
[ Applause ]
This next writer, Teri Ellen
Cross Davis is the author
of Haint.
She is the winner of the 2017
Ohioana Book Award for Poetry,
she is a Cave Canem fellow and
works as the poetry coordinator
for the Folger Shakespeare
Library in Washington,
D.C. She puts on some of
the most amazing events
that this city sees,
so I need you all
to put your hands together
for somebody who was local
to this city, Teri
Ellen Cross Davis.
[ Applause ]
All right audience,
that's my spiel,
that's the most you're going
to hear me speak all night.
>> Audience Member: Awe.
[laughter]
>> Elizabeth Acevedo: Right now,
we are about to have
the first poet come up.
On deck we have Destiny Butler,
so Destiny I need
you to be ready.
But right now, and
audience, y'all gonna,
y'all gonna show up, right?
>> Audience: Yeah.
>> Elizabeth Acevedo: Okay.
I'm going to make sure
I have my name right.
Hold on, give me one second.
I've got a lot of papers.
Where's my, on deck Destiny
Butler, but right now,
the first poet of the night.
Sacrificing to ensure
that this slam goes well,
please put your hands
together for Jordan Shabani.
[assumed spelling]
[applause] Keep on clapping
until Jordan is on stage.
[ Applause ]
That's the lowest its'
going to go, is that okay?
>> Jordan Shabani: Yeah.
>> Elizabeth Acevedo:
[inaudible].
[ Applause ]
>> Jordan Shabani: Thank you.
To you my drowning looks
like swimming, crazy, insane,
and the audience of my
story thinks I am to blame.
Why are you not eating?
Why are you so flaky?
Why are you so moody?
Telling me to think of happy
thoughts, like I'm not trying,
like I can control
the way it feels.
Simple tasks become
tragedies, my home shipwrecked
across my kitchen table,
conversation safety
jackets I don't wear.
I try to maintain relationships,
but I am submerged.
How did I get to this point
where moments fade in and out,
casual chaos lives
within and about?
Every breathe means I'm one step
closer to the end of the day,
so I stop holding it, pray I
don't wake up each morning.
My mind foggy with questions
lighthouses can't cut through.
Why do I feel this way?
Is it because of
an unloving mother?
She tells me she loves me every
day, so then why do the monsters
like to dwell in my head, cast
shadows that make me believe
that I'm better off dead.
I wish I could tell you what
having depression feels like,
but like water, it shapeshifts,
turns mole hill to mountain.
An emotional rollercoaster
I did not line
up for, cannot get off of.
Fluctuates like the tide,
anxiety moves me like a current,
swaying me into a
fear induced frenzy,
a leg that won't stop moving.
You think it, a tectonic plate
causing a tsunami leaving a
population of one.
It causes me agony, causes
me grief, causes me worry,
I lie awake and I worry,
in sleepless days,
in restless nights.
Imagining reality as a phantom
silence, the only constant,
yet in here it echoes.
When lights are low, I'm
once again left alone.
Siren song beckons me in
to the deep and I follow.
I think if I was smarter
and just a tad bit wittier,
if I was smaller and
just a tad bit skinnier,
then I would be fine, but sadly
life just isn't that kind.
I think happiness wasn't meant
to be, happiness was meant
for someone who worked
harder than me.
And I know this is something
that you might not understand,
because it's something that you
haven't witnessed firsthand.
I remember how things were,
genuine feeling didn't have
to cultivated, I laughed
because I meant it.
I was close to everyone
that I loved,
but I am drained
of what I once was.
Excitement, now an obligation.
Smiles, plastered on a face
waiting to cry, and the voices
in my mind occupy the
space where comfort lived.
I am no longer the captain of
my own ship, walking the plank
to dive headfirst
into waters filled
with creatures of
my own creation.
Just because they aren't
tangible doesn't mean they
aren't there, that I can't
feel them wrap around me,
pull me down into the deep.
Lifeless, losing consciousness.
I wave my hand for help,
but all you see is, Hello.
[ Applause ]
>> Elizabeth Acevedo:
Keep it going for Jordan.
[ Applause ]
Judges, this is the most
time I am going to give you.
This the sacrificial poet,
everything that you hear
after this will be
determined according
to how you felt about this poet.
So, score from low to high.
For Jordan, we have an 8.
>> Audience Member:
Listen to the poem.
>> Elizabeth Acevedo:
If you all hear a score
that you're not feeling
audience, you're allowed
to yell, listen to the poem,
[laughter] that is allowed.
If you hear a score you really
like, you are allowed to cheer.
You are a part of this slam.
The second score is also an 8.
[cheer] And the third
score is a 9.4.
[ Applause ]
On deck, representing Rise
Poetry, we have Haven Crestal.
[assumed spelling] But right
now, coming to the stage,
please put your hands
together for Destiny Betler
from Dew More, [applause]
Destany butler
from Dew More Baltimore.
[ Applause ]
I'm going to raise it
a little bit, okay?
Is that okay?
[ Applause ]
>> Audience Members: I'm a
be more poet, a be more poet,
so I traveled around the world
trying to see more poets.
Y'all ain't never seen
nothing like a be more poet.
[ Applause ]
>> Destany Butler: They say the
Bible is the most read title
in the world, so my
father makes himself god.
Says, himself good at seasons,
let's his cold fronts meet his
warm fronts, and leaves me to be
and weather the storm.
Believes he is raising hell.
Sees me, a burning bush, a
manifestation of himself,
sees my tears like the Red Sea.
Parts them as passageways for
his charm and the devil may care
but my father doesn't.
For the devil has no
place in this church.
I'm in his home, I
may be the spirts,
but my father carries on,
leaving me to carry his sins.
And I sometimes agree
that my father is a god.
The only way I can
understand myself be crucified,
while I'm constantly
burned at the steak.
See, I'm usually
burned by his mistakes,
and I often see my
father like the Earth.
The way he makes mountains out
of his moled, freckled body,
then lets himself avalanche.
Leaves me in the rubble,
leaves me holier than thou
and maybe that's why I'm
never whole around him.
See, my father has a
spine like a roadway,
says he can manage the curves,
says there's no need in whining
about the winding path his
body has become, says here.
Sciatica and slipped
discs are more
like speed bumps
and stop lights.
So, my mother tells me, I'm
not an architect, I'm not here
to fix his faulty construction.
But I remind her that
Jesus was a carpenter,
and if he could find a
way to walk on water,
then maybe I could find a way
to make my father
love his daughter.
So, on the first
day I build hope
and watched my home
be destructed,
and I wept like Jesus, and in a
way, I realize I am like Jesus.
So, I ask my god, why
had he forsaken me?
And in a way I didn't know
whether I should praise him
for creating me or rebuke
him for never raising me.
See, I just wanted
to be his Lazareth,
but my father knows
himself a decaying temple,
a house soon to be divided.
My father knows the
Israelites walked 40 years
through the desert,
but if the road
to being a good father would
take his last 40 steps, see,
that is not a trip
that he can chance.
But my father is a circle of a
man, believing that all begins
and will end with him.
Soon my father will
not be able to walk,
either way I don't
think he wanted to step
in the right direction.
So today, I become an atheist,
realizing I can no longer praise
a man whose praise belongs only
to himself.
Can no longer care for
a man who cares more
about himself than his daughter.
See, I have never been
that kind of savior.
[ Applause ]
>> Elizabeth Acevedo: People
always ask me if I'm going
to write a sequel to The
Poet X, and I'm like,
nah, I wrote the poem.
Like, I wrote this book about a
young woman who discovers slam,
and then I come to a slam
like this and I'm like,
I might have to, right?
[laughter] Because I'm just
so moved by like what y'all do
and what y'all represent,
that like,
I'm inspired y'all,
so thank you so much.
Right now, from low to
high, we have an 8.5,
[applause] a 9.3, and a 9.5.
[applause] But give
it up for the poet.
[ Applause ]
On deck, representing
the D.C. Youth Slam Team,
we have Amina Fatima.
[assumed spelling] But coming
to the stage right now,
please put your hands
together for Haven Crestal.
[ Applause ]
Is this okay?
Lower? Can you just
step up so I can see?
>> Haven Crestal: [inaudible].
[ Applause ]
Being mixed has its
perks, its ups and downs.
But schooling and education
is slightly harder to bare,
especially when the two races
I'm mixed with are stereotyped
as anger and aggression.
Yes, we've all heard at
least one poem that was
about African American
culture, but at this point,
there's so many of them.
The African American side of me
feels mocked and almost ashamed
because of these people,
while the Hispanic side
of me doesn't really
care much of it.
What the Hispanic side of me
does care about is that just
because I'm half Hispanic people
assume I can translate anything
in Spanish for them.
[laughter] I always tell them
I know the basics, [inaudible],
[laughter] [speaking
foreign language].
It gets really annoying, back
to the whole schooling
education part.
For my sisters and I, being
different tons of brown,
you're all from the same
mom, confuses others
and leaves them to assume.
Students will ask the teacher
if my older sister
would be a slave.
And with my middle sister,
she was just trying to be nice
and stand up for someone,
but they just said,
you're not black, you
wouldn't understand.
And what aggravated me the
most was when someone asked me
if I was adopted when
they saw me with my dad.
So, to end on a good note, let's
try to make it easier on us
by just simply just asking
and not assuming our race,
because it offends us and
makes you look ignorant.
Thank you.
[ Applause ]
>> Elizabeth Acevedo:
Keep it going for Haven.
[ Applause ]
Have was not here to
play with you all.
>> Audience Member:
She wasn't playing.
[laughter]
>> Elizabeth Acevedo: I was
sitting on that step like, oh,
I feel like I just got my whole
life collected real quick.
[laughter] From a score of low
to high, we have a 7.3, a 7.5,
and a 7.5, but give
it up for the poet.
[ Applause ]
On deck, we have Delicia Green
representing Dew More Baltimore.
But right now, please out your
hands together for Amina Fatima
from the D.C. You Slam Team.
[ Applause ]
Is this good?
Is that enough?
Oh, you've got it?
Okay.
>> Audience Members: D.C.
Youth Slam, [inaudible].
[inaudible], [inaudible] hey.
[laughter]
>> Amina Fatima: The moment
my five-year-old self walked
into Kindergarten, my
eyes lit up as bright
as the multicolored alphabet
letters strung across the room.
The cartoon characters
danced on the reading rug,
and I found my purple
butterfly nametag, Amina.
I heard a voice over my shoulder
and looked up to see a tall
and firm looking woman,
she was not smiling.
She had this look on her face,
as if she could see everything
that my future held, everything
that I'd grow up to be.
She said, I'm Miss.
Powers, and then
it all made sense.
Her collar looked like
the perfect coverup
under which she'd tie her cap,
and the reflection of myself
in her glasses made me feel
like she had probably just read
my mind, seen all there was
to see about me, all
there ever would be,
could be, to see one day.
And her powerful aura
radiating strength
and bravery made me wonder
if maybe she was
Kindergarten teacher by day
and superhero by night.
In her classroom I
learned how to count,
count to ten three times
while washing your hands.
I learned scissors are
tricky to use and cutting
on the lines was not always
the easiest but failing to do
so doesn't make you
any less than the kid
who go it right the first time.
She taught me how to
swing between syllables
and sounds the way
Spiderman swings
from building to building.
She gave me a gift, taught
me how to read and rhyme,
play with syllables and sounds.
How to tell my story.
Magic forming on paper,
my crayons be my wand,
and my alphabet sticker
is my spell.
With Miss.
Powers, I learned how
to describe things,
like the b-bumpy,
s-scaly, o-orange scale
of our classroom fish.
I learned that if someone is
sitting alone during snack time
it is nice to extend
a friendly hand,
but with that I also learned
about peanut allergies.
[laughter] And I learned
that if you try hard enough
to fall asleep during nap
time you might even dream.
In her classroom, the
ability to imagine.
I guess that's why
Kindergarten is as far back
as I can remember, because
that is where everything began.
She made me recognize the word
powers because it was her name,
and also the first thing I saw
every morning as I walked in,
big bold blue letters hanging
above the glass window
on the wooden door.
I wanted to put my
name up there too.
It made me wonder how much
growing up I still had left
to do before I could be
important enough for my name
to start someone's
day every day.
It's been 12 years
and I have walked
through countless
classroom doors, been greeted
by many different
teachers, each one adding
to the story that began in 2006.
12 years ago, I didn't
know I'd be a Hijabi,
I didn't know I'd be a poet.
12 years ago, I didn't know
I'd become a Hijabi poet whose
finger-painting skills would
progress into using words,
to painting portraits.
And I don't know if Miss.
Powers knew or if Miss.
Holiday did.
I don't know if Miss.
G saw it coming, if she knew
how mighty I'd be with 12 years
of superpowers surpassing
the fear of not being enough,
the fear of not being,
of becoming invisible
when all I needed
was to be seen.
When all I needed was my name.
Thank you.
[ Applause ]
>> Elizabeth Acevedo: Yes.
[ Applause ]
I know there are
so many teachers
in the room that are like, yes.
[laughter] I wish someone
would send me that poem, right?
[laughter] That's all I want is
for my former students to like,
to just have those
kinds of memories.
And for the new teachers,
I know school just started,
at least in the D.C. area, so
I hope the first week was good,
and I hope next week is better.
[laughter] Print that
poem out, like 300,
we're just gonna pass
them out at the door.
[laughter] But the scores
are up so I'm gonna.
From low to high we have an 8.7,
[applause] we have a
9.2, and another 9.2.
[ Applause ]
On deck, representing Rise
Poetry we have Harper Howard,
but right now, please
put for hands together,
representing Dew More
Baltimore, Delicia Green.
[applause] And keep on clapping
until Delicia is on stage.
[ Applause ]
How's that my love?
Is that okay?
Okay.
>> Audience Members:
I'm a be more poet,
couldn't be more
poet, so I traveled
around the world trying
to see more poets.
Y'all ain't never seen
nothing like a be more poet.
[cheering]
>> Delicia Green: What
if we were allowed
to write our own stories?
Or what if another black boy
from Baltimore was murdered
by the Police tonight?
His body, still.
His white T, bloody.
His True Religion jeans
soaked in a deep red.
His Freddie Gray New
Balances, stained.
His soul is now immortal and
drifts until it reaches Heaven.
But what is his Heaven?
I mean, when he arrives, do they
play a little Scooter instead
of Gospel Hymns?
Do the angles wear RIP and
[inaudible] black boys name
on the back of their wings?
Does god have straight
hair and blue eyes,
or does he rock a
cruddy in front?
I mean, what if a black boys
Heaven isn't the same que
as the men that killed him,
but what if his Heaven was
in the studio and he
rocked praises into the mic,
and his hymns are beats
produced by Metro Boomin,
and his homeboys are in
the backroom hyping him up.
What if his Heaven was
chicken box, salt, pepper,
ketchup with a half and half?
What if his Heaven consisted
of him and his dead brothers,
riding dirt bikes, popping a
wheelie every time a cop pops a
black boy?
What if his Heaven
was his grandmother,
and her hugs were
powerful enough
to cleanse him of his sins?
What if his heaven was
at the bus stop, with him
and his goons in a SIFER?
What if that was his choir,
his praise and worship?
What if his Heaven was his
poetry book or his rhyme book,
and the only thing separating
him from hell was this audience?
People who cared or
people who listened.
What if his Heaven was this
open mic, or this Poetry Slam?
What if before he died, he
was at the bus stop signaling
for a hat so he could
perform at a show?
What if he was spitting,
and a cop comes,
considers him a weapon,
says his tongue too sharp.
Thought his peace was a piece.
Police turns himself into
a priest, turned his gun
into a cross, turns
execution into exorcism.
The officer will say, black
boy was possessed by a demon.
His skin tone said
he had a tone.
And by the tone of his voice
he was spitting fire, a dragon,
ready to burn the city
down, ready to riot.
What if a black boy can exist
in Baltimore as a rapper,
as a writer, as an
artist, as a poet?
What if a black boy could create
his own Heaven with just poems?
[ Applause ]
>> Elizabeth Acevedo:
I tried to tell y'all,
I tried to tell y'all.
I think what I love most about
a Poetry Slam is that you can't,
you can't tell what
you are about to learn
or what you are about
to receive.
And I love when a slam
makes me surprised,
when it makes me wonder, when
it makes me uncomfortable.
Particularly when I'm listening
to young people because so often
that is the voice that we
want to pretend we know
but we don't know, [applause]
and so when someone comes
up here and tells
the truth, I'm like,
I can tell the truth
is being told, right?
Because I've got the
goose pimples to prove it.
But I'm not a judge,
so I'm going to turn
to the people [laughter]
who go the goose [laughter]
pimples written down.
We have a 9.1, a 9.5, and a 9.7.
[ Applause ]
On deck, representing the
D.C. Youth Slam Team is
Gelila Makonnen.
[assumed spelling] But right
now, coming up to the stage,
please your hands together for
Rise Poetry poet, Harper Howard.
[applause] Is the mic okay?
>> Harper Howard: Yeah.
>> Elizabeth Acevedo: All right.
>> Harper Howard: I've
never been in front
of this many people before.
>> Elizabeth Acevedo:
You're okay.
Take a deep breath,
you've got it.
[ Applause ]
>> Harper Howard: When
I was in Middle School,
I got in more trouble
for reading
than I did for acting out.
My face was always smothered
in the warmest embrace I
knew, a riveting plotline.
[laughter] I was
addicted to books.
The words ran through my veins
like a virus infecting my body.
The story, my last meal in
weeks, each page a calorie,
each chapter a [inaudible]
I just couldn't put down.
[ Applause ]
Without a book, I just
couldn't seem to feel whole,
because I wasn't
always that way.
I didn't get no cliché
childhood, no teenage drama,
because my mother decided that
chasing a dragon was easier feat
than raising four kids.
She learned to tango
with the devil,
with her self-injected
poison, and she seemed the lust
for it outgrew the love for us
and the homes that
we resided in.
When I was in First Grade, I
told my teacher, I can't read.
Because going from house to
house means different school,
and different schools always at
different places, and everyone's
at different paces,
and I couldn't even
seem to know the basics.
But my only choice was to face
it because my mother went away,
and slowly the calls from the
prison became sloppily written
cursive letters.
And those were my favorite
fairytales of hopes
of her becoming clean,
of her coming back home,
her being my mom, her
coming to the school events.
But just like the story books,
we learn not everything
has a happy ending.
But one thing I did learn,
is that I could write my own.
>> Elizabeth Acevedo: Very good.
[ Applause ]
That's Harper Howard.
[applause]
Harper whispered to me before he
started reading, I've never been
in front of this many
people before, [laughter]
and then proceeded to make like
half the audience cry, right?
[laughter] The score from
low to high, we have a 7.1.
>> Audience: Listen to the poem.
>> Elizabeth Acevedo:
An 8.7, and a 9.
But give it up for the poet.
[ Applause ]
We are about to listen last
poet of the first rounds y'all.
How are y'all feeling,
y'all good?
[applause] So, we are going
to start the second round
in a little bit, but right now
we have the sixth poet coming
up that you have not met yet, so
we are going to introduce them.
On deck for round two, Destany
Butler will be coming up,
but right now, please
put your hands together
for the poet representing
the D.C. Youth Slam Team,
Gelila Makonnen.
[ Applause ]
That good?
>> Gelila Makonnen: Yep.
I always thought High
School was like a bad dream.
>> Audience Member: Yes.
[laughter]
>> Gelila Makonnen: Where
the walls would go on forever
and you're always stuck with
a heavy weight on your back.
When every face is slightly
familiar, you can't remember
which class you have with them,
or if you even share
a class at all.
[laughter] You don't
know how to wake up.
On the days where I felt
like I was having this repeating
nightmare I wouldn't go
to class, I'd enter through
the schools front doors and go
to the second door on the
right, pass by all the computer
and English classes, until
I got to two big blue doors.
I felt like I was
just opening my eyes.
When the smell of old
ink and sunlight hit me,
I would stretch my fingers
and practice the art
of pulling out an old book.
I would always flip
the pages too fast
like I was begging
for a paper cut.
Take on every character
like a Halloween costume,
and lose myself in a world that
I believed would love me back.
The day I lost my
bike, I read a book
about a girl who flew dragons.
The time I failed a
test, I learned of a man
who never passed 11th Grade but
ended up happier than if he had.
I remember wanting to
write myself in that world,
where unexpected
endings happen and girls
who start sad leave behind those
feelings in the last chapter.
I wonder where I would start.
In a school that flies or
a house near the water?
Would I dress in a war skirt or
ripped jeans, of maybe accent
with an ax or an iced coffee?
Fight for things
that matter for me.
I never cry when I got hurt,
only grew thicker skin laced
with tree roots and iron bolts.
I'd never be laughed
at, only admired.
Dreamers would finally
get to live,
and no one knew what it meant
to lose a friend or family.
Loneliness would be
treated like a cold
and would only be temporary.
If I were the author of my
own story, I would be the kind
of book you wouldn't put down.
The first page starts
with a girl who fought
with her 3rd grade teacher,
because he made a
comment about her hair.
The next chapter, a blank page
with scribbles because she was
so angry, she took
all the words.
The chapter following would be
ripped, covered in teeth marks,
because back then she only
knew how to eat her fears away.
The climax would be
this moment right here,
because she never thought
she'd get this far,
and she doesn't know if
she'll get any farther.
[laughter]
[ Applause ]
But for now, she'll turn
the next page, and another,
until this book gets a
sequel, and then a trilogy,
because this author
doesn't know how to quit.
[applause] And it
will have no title,
so you can judge me by my cover.
[ Applause ]
>> Elizabeth Acevedo:
Yep, all the writers
in the room just got the
advice they needed, right?
If you're thinking about
quitting on a manuscript,
baby girl just told you,
[laughter] get it together,
keep on writing, right?
We've all got revisions to make,
including just the
life we're living.
That was dope.
The last poet of the first
round received from low to high,
an 8.5, an 8.7, and a 9.
[ Applause ]
We are going to start the
second round, but I do want
to give the poets just
like a breather, right?
Because they're like all anxious
and like got all these feelings.
And so, I just want to get a
sense of who's in the room,
because it's easier to perform
when you know if
your kin is here.
So, I'm going to ask some
questions, really like two,
[laughter] and mostly cause I'm
curious, because I love food.
I'm going to ask you some food
questions, and I just want you
to yell out what your preference
out of the two options
are, right?
And this is something that stole
from a poet I love
called Lauren May,
who is a big fan of tatter tots.
>> Audience member:
French fries.
[cheering]
>> Elizabeth Acevedo:
And so, I'm going to yell
out two food items, you're going
to yell back the one you love.
We're going to try to determine
what our room is feeling.
Y'all ready?
>> Audience: Yeah.
>> Elizabeth Acevedo:
Tatter tots or French fries?
>> Audience: French fries.
>> Elizabeth Acevedo: That's was
like overwhelmingly
French fries.
[cheering]
>> Audience Member: No.
>> Elizabeth Acevedo: That
was, that was, it was.
Donuts or cupcakes?
>> Audience: Donuts.
>> Elizabeth Acevedo: [laughter]
There was like someone who was
like listening and
is like, cupcakes.
[laughter] And the
last one, y'all ready.
>> Audience Member: Yeah.
>> Elizabeth Acevedo:
Y'all focused?
Tacos, I know it's hard, right?
>> Audience Member: [inaudible].
>> Elizabeth Acevedo: Tacos.
[laughter] Done, tacos.
[laughter] [applause]
Tacos or tacos?
[laughter] Tacos or pizza?
>> Audience: Tacos.
>> Audience: Pizza.
>> Elizabeth Acevedo:
Oh, that was close.
We going to try that again
the next round just to see.
I'm going to let you guys like
sit with you spirit [laughter]
and see what your
feeling, and we'll regroup
after the second round.
That was the first round.
I appreciate you all being
here for the themed round.
[cheering] This is the round
where poets will get on stage
and do a poem that moves
them, regardless of whether
or not it is related to theme
of books or storytelling.
For those of you who are
here, who have stayed here,
I appreciate you, we need your
energy to keep this going.
So, thank you for being present,
thank you for listening.
For folks who are participating
and yelling and saying,
listen to the poem, feel
free to let yourself loose.
You are a part of
this experience,
if you like something you
could, Yass, you could clap,
you could snap, you
could, uh huh.
All of these things are allowed.
Can we practice a
uh huh together?
>> Audience: Uh huh.
>> Elizabeth Acevedo:
Oh, y'all cute.
All right, on deck we have
representing Rise Poetry,
Haven Crestal.
But right now, coming to stage,
please put your hands together
for the first poet of the
second round, Destany Butler.
[ Applause ]
I think this is good.
You think a little higher?
>> Destany Butler:
No, it's good.
>> Elizabeth Acevedo: Okay.
>> Audience Member:
Your shirt is fire.
>> Destany Butler:
[laughter] Thank you.
You know, I never understood
how the hood watch scary movies
when the hood feel
like Halloweentown.
Feels like Sleepy
Hollows, hallows me out,
the way I've seen angle face
boys turn ghoul and goblin.
I've seen demons in the
costume of protection.
I've seen the hood suck our
souls and turn people vampire.
Sometimes it's scares me how
they can bear baring crosses,
be strong enough to symbolize
their own kryptonite,
and sometimes drug
dealers be my superhero.
Seem godly, make me wonder
if that's why they start
turning bodies, holy ghost,
paint concrete red, make
everyday Day of the Dead,
and make we wonder if that's
what it means to be black.
To have your pain turned pretty.
Like ain't that why we've
seen black bodies hung
like decoration, why black
culture gets turned into,
like totally Coachella, or like,
no, like it's totally trending.
Like no, this is
definitely not black face.
Why white girl take my arm
[inaudible] to cover her cookies
and cream, then call
me a Sour Patch girl.
[cheering] X Y, never
sweet, call me bitter.
X Y, black women are so
angry, so bitter, so bland.
So, I bring up Sandra,
bring up Corrin,
bring up every time a family
member of mine got pulled
over for, you know, being black.
Bring up the time a white
officer told 7-year-old me
that I look suspicious.
Told me, go home.
Told me, stop crying.
Told me, don't you know you're
old enough to go to jail?
And a white girl goes silent.
That's how I'm not religious,
but in the presence of red
and blue lights I pray that
I won't soon see a white one.
Pray that if the only way I
can find god is in the barrel
of a white officers gun.
See, I would rather live in sin.
I ask her, has she ever
been afraid of the police?
Does she think that they will
always protect their service?
She thinks that her skin
makes her a deadly weapon.
I ask her, does she
think being black
in America is more
trick or treat?
[ Applause ]
>> Elizabeth Acevedo: I
think there's a couple of us
in the room who are like,
we are part of that
Sour Patch collective,
we know what it means.
[laughter] Yes.
Scores, we have a 9,
[cheers] we have a 10,
[cheer] and we have 10.
[ Applause ]
On deck, we have Amina
Fatima, but right now,
please put your hands
together for Haven Crestal.
[ Applause ]
And y'all know the rules, y'all
clap till Haven is on the stage.
Keep it up, keep it
up, keep it up, ah.
[ Applause ]
How's that?
>> Haven Crestal: Lower.
>> Elizabeth Acevedo:
You got this.
>> Haven Crestal: Fear, it'll
channel through your brain
as something you
can't simply tame.
As in a reaction to something as
big as a threat, or to something
as small as forgotten laundry.
Fearing leaves my hands
shaking, my body swaying,
my eyes wander from
left to right.
Fear definition, an
unpleasant feeling triggered
by the perception of
danger, real or imagined.
Well, one of my definitions
are, that it's the feeling
of rejection that
comes from aggression.
I feel the fear, the worry,
because of the words
I can never take back
as they fly away
into the open world.
Like a baby bird
leaving its nest
for good, never to come back.
Like, before today even came, I
was afraid, afraid to stutter,
afraid to mispronounce,
afraid to forget.
I felt the fear rush through
my veins and [inaudible]
to raid my body,
making me stiff.
I can't move a muscle, I
can't speak, my mouth is open,
my lips are moving, but no
words, no sounds can escape.
My throat begins to close
up, I can't breathe.
I can close my eyes and count
to 10, I can take slow breathes,
in through the nose,
out through the mouth.
But those monsters still
lurk through the darkness
of your soul, suck the
courage and bravery out of you,
making you a limp and
fearful monster yourself.
Hanging from the ceiling
of despair, bleeding tears
that drop on the floor.
Will you let the monsters in,
or will you light a
candle to burn them alive?
To fear or not to fear,
that is the question.
Thank you.
[ Applause ]
On deck, we have Delicia Green,
just being aware of that,
I'm going to read
the scores though.
I'm going to pretend
I didn't just mess up.
[laughter] Y'all going
to pretend you didn't
notice me mess up.
[laughter] The scores
for the last poet were,
a 7.9, an 8.1, and an 8.5.
But give it up for the poet.
[ Applause ]
On deck, we have Delicia Green,
but right now, coming to stage,
please put your hands
together for Amina Fatima,
representing the
D.C. Youth Slam Team.
[applause] I think you
look fine [inaudible].
Was it okay?
>> Amina Fatima: Yeah, it was.
>> Elizabeth Acevedo: Okay.
>> Audience Members:
You got it flowing,
that's why you wrote it.
>> Audience Member:
Don't be nice.
>> Audience Members: Be nasty.
[laughter]
>> Amina Fatima: I was 7 the
first time someone told me I
wasn't American.
The first time someone
compared my dad
to Osama bin Laden, I was 10.
And the first time someone
called me a terrorist it was
13th birthday.
My voice shrunk in shock,
the audacity to even utter
such words, my face red, hot.
I remember my eyes welling up
with 6 years of frustration.
Today, when you ask,
where are you from?
I stare directly back
you and answer here.
You get upset when I
sit for the pledge,
tell me to act more
American, as if it wasn't you
who made me think I'm not
American in the first place.
But I guess that's why
you use the word, act.
You refer to my Hijab as just
a piece of cloth, but if I were
to say the same thing
about your flag,
your hands would form fists
and fingers would
wrap around trigger.
You tell me, go back to your
country, then when I try,
hold me back for
random security checks,
or get me kicked off the plane.
I'm labeled dangerous
on the news,
but I am victim to your abuse.
Getting screamed
at at gas stations
and followed in the streets.
Then, you ask why my family
doesn't celebrate the Fourth
of July.
I [laughter] don't know
where to go anymore,
don't know if it's real when I
feel my neighborhood loving me,
or if I've imagined
it this whole time.
When did the change happen?
When did you decide I was
no longer to be blocked out
but forced to claim
America as my home?
What made you want me?
What made you think twice
about spitting me out?
Maybe it's this platform I
have found, this community
of fighters fighting
right your wrongs.
Maybe it's the way my Hijab
flows in the wind like a cape
or rapid hummingbird wings
making the noise of revolution.
[cheering] Growing up, growing
up I was taught to keep quiet,
never cause any disruptions.
But I was also taught to always
tell the truth, and I don't know
which to do anymore
because the words truth
and disruption have
become a merging road.
[cheering] I was also taught to
never make anyone uncomfortable.
My very existence, defiant in
a way that feels like hot wax
on your skin, but
see, the thing is
that if this makes
you uncomfortable,
you are part of the problem.
>> Audience: Yeah.
[cheering]
>> Amina Fatima: You expect me
to pledge allegiance to the flag
of the United States of America,
the country that has
been rejecting my family
since they got here.
the flag, that piece of cloth
that you hold as close to you
as if it were a piece of your
identity, and maybe it is,
and maybe I can respect that.
But if and only when you
learn that this piece of cloth
on my head is just as holy, and
these words that have traveled
so far and so long to get
here, through oceans of ink,
and roads of paper,
and god knows
through how many red lights.
There is nothing more American
than the desire of change
and standing up for
what you believe in.
And if America is what you say
it is, then there is nothing,
nobody more American than me.
Thank you.
[ Applause ]
>> Elizabeth Acevedo: Whoa.
I don't got no cute anecdotes,
I'm just going to
read the score.
[laughter] We got from
low to high, a 9.9,
[cheering] a 10, and a 10.
[ Applause ]
One deck, we have Harper Howard.
Right now, we have
Delicia Green.
Please put your hands
out, show some love.
This is Delicia Green
[ Applause ]
I know y'all's tired, show
some love, keep it moving.
[applause] [inaudible].
A little bit?
>> Delicia Green: Uh huh.
>> Elizabeth Acevedo:
Yeah, yeah, yeah.
Right there?
>> Delicia Green: Uh huh.
>> Elizabeth Acevedo: Okay.
>> Audience Member: Yass,
take your shoes off.
[cheering]
>> Delicia Green: I am
my creators thoughts,
paper personified.
I push boundaries and borders.
White hands push me
into bad neighborhoods,
me and crack in competition.
We both rock nations, I corrupt
black minds, create crack heads,
then send them to the pen
with just a pen point, period.
Call in unjust, but all is fair
in love and the war on drugs.
I'm a minimum war on poverty.
Bomb black children with the
school to put some pipeline.
I don't bang with black
people, but I bang black people.
I've got brains on my back
in the name of freedom.
I've got names on back,
synonymous with freedom.
Black ink is smudged
on the Bill of Rights,
so colleagues already
got a taste of freedom.
I am Jim crow reincarnated,
kept black people separated.
With incarceration I'd be
the law written by white men
with a god like complex,
write a few amendments,
now the commandments.
Moses part the Red Sea, Andrew
Jackson parted the Trail
of Tears with a treaty,
the Constitution, is Bible,
I am a bill, am an act.
Actions speak louder than words.
What happens when you are both?
Don't you know how much power
pieces of paper possess?
Whether it be a bill or
a bill, freedom papers
or a warrant, I control
your life.
Remember when the officer
who killed Stephon
Clark didn't get charged
for murder, that was me.
The District Attorney said,
no crime had been committed
because no law had been broken.
The cops nod and smashin.
They laid down the law and
there's still enough space
on this bed to either put
you down or bend you over.
Don't you get it?
I am your god, I kill and
receive no punishment.
What's an eye for an eye when
you are Hammurabi's Code?
I kept slavery alive, rebranded
it the Correctional Institution.
Schools are still segregated.
Ask your taxpayers,
clean water only goes
to the fairest skin,
look at Flint's.
I don't change, I
evolve, I am the law.
Ain't it ironic, white
paper has more privilege
than black people.
White people will protect
me just so I can harm you,
and you think bullets
are your enemy.
Is twelve the reason
why you scared?
Afraid to be put in a box and
have the walls close in on you?
That's what project
housing is for.
So, the next time you want
change, want a revolution,
want equality, remember,
I am your biggest threat.
White paper with black
words, written by white men
out to destroy black worlds.
I'd be paper cut deep, I
make three fifths of a person
into 12% of the American
population and convert
that into 34% of
the prison system,
even though black people
put 100% of this nation.
I'm evil like that,
I'm legal like that.
I'll outlive you and your
people, and by the looks
of it, I'm almost done.
I be the law, obey
me or break me.
I will be enforced by
any mean necessary.
[ Applause ]
>> Elizabeth Acevedo: Woah.
Wow.
I just want to be real clear
that on this stage tonight
we have heard persona poems,
we've heard praise poems,
we've heard protest poems.
We've got all kinds of forms
happening on this stage.
They talk about the
diversity of, quote, unquote,
slam culture, performance art.
They need to come into this room
because they are letting
us know what poetry can be,
and the breath of poetry.
This is why when people say,
it was a slam poem, I'm like,
what does that mean, right?
Because there are so
many kinds of poems
that can exist on this stage.
So, thanks for that reminder.
We have a 9.7, a 9.9, and a 10.
[ Applause ]
On deck, we have the last poet
of the nigh, Gelila Makonnen,
they're going to get ready.
But right now, please
put your hands together
for Harper Howard.
[ Applause ]
You got this, [inaudible].
They just want to
hear your poem.
Is this okay?
How's the mic?
>> Harper Howard: Yeah.
>> Elizabeth Acevedo:
Okay, all right.
[ Applause ]
[ Audience Chatter ]
>> Harper Howard: I need to
get something off my chest.
When I was in Third Grade,
I tried to climb the
Tulip tree in my backyard.
Using the pool ladder, I hoisted
myself onto the first branch,
leaving indents on my
hand as a gripped tighter.
Going higher and higher,
the ground loomed below me.
Suddenly, I was higher
than the shed.
I kept going, the
branches getting smaller,
I thought I could do it.
When suddenly, at the
utmost unimaginable point,
the branch breaks.
Suddenly, I am free falling
through the ground and I
through my hands
out to catch myself.
My wrist broke in
three spots that night.
I remember that it broke.
They say that humans can't
remember the sensation of pain,
but I don't know why I
can't forget the pain
of my father telling
me I couldn't be a boy,
that I could like girls.
I didn't fit into his box.
My wrist took three months
to heal, and my heart has
yet to mend from the years
of a balanced relationship.
Tip toeing over a
ledge and leap.
Sometimes we fall off,
we fight, we argue.
There's months we go where
we don't talk to each other,
no texts, I don't come home.
And sometimes I through
myself off the ledge,
I fall into oblivion, and
the only thing that clings
to me is a chest binder that's
too tight and I can't breathe.
Maybe it's my anxiety
making me gasp for air,
or maybe it's the fear that no
ones going to be here tomorrow.
Trans youth are three times
more likely to kill themselves
than other LGBT youth.
Sometimes it's important just
to tell someone you're there,
because at the end of the day,
Instagram won't be
a battlefield.
People won't be there to tell
me I'm a girl, because I know
who I am, and every
day is a new day.
But first, I need to get
something off my chest.
[ Applause ]
>> Elizabeth Acevedo:
Ah, they're so good.
[applause] They're so good.
I just think, you know, for
me what is a beautiful thing
of witnessing art is that like
every wound needs a witness.
>> Audience: Yeah.
>> Elizabeth Acevedo: Right?
That so much of learning
shame is learning silence,
and that this is
completely and synthetical
to that notion, right?
It is literally saying,
like this is how we
liberate ourselves,
[applause] by making
you see me as I see me,
and acknowledge I exist.
Right? And so, that reminder
as I was sitting here,
like this is the point.
Not the scores, not
whatever happening up here,
but literally the poets
who got up here and said,
I have something on my heart,
and I need you to hear.
[applause] Like,
that's beautiful.
[applause] Our score, from
low to high, is a 9.6,
[cheering] a 9.8, and a 9.
I did that in reverse order.
[laughter] We have a
9, a 9.6, and a 9.8.
[applause] But give
it up for the poet.
[ Applause ]
On deck, we don't
have anyone competing.
I'm going to do a poem
while the judges tabulate.
[cheering] But right
now, so I'm on deck,
I'm going to go get
ready in the corner.
[laughter] But right now,
please put your hands together
for the last poet of this
Poetry Slam, Gelila Makonnen,
representing the
D.C. Youth Slam Team.
[ Applause ]
[inaudible]?
>> Gelila Makonnen: Yeah.
>> Audience Chanting:
[inaudible].
Hey.
>> Elizabeth Acevedo:
[inaudible].
>> Gelila Makonnen: It's fine.
>> Elizabeth Acevedo: Okay.
[laughter]
>> Gelila Makonnen: You call
my mother an illegal alien,
think she stutters
with that accent.
She's only holding herself back
from swearing at
you in her tongue.
Hope, I don't finish it for her.
[laughter] You confuse her
hair with a history lesson,
you think that you
need to pin pop,
pinpoint the spot
on the continent.
More Indian, slightly African,
with a bit of European
highlights.
Even in a graveyard she's
seen as a trespasser,
so me and my father buried
by mother in her homeland.
She became citizen to a grave,
only finding freedom
in a small casket.
I remember being tired of
my name, like it didn't grow
from my mother roots,
like it didn't mean holy,
but sunk in water, being tired
of asking where it came from.
I just wanted something pretty
to say after introductions.
I just wanted someone
to smile and look at me
with understanding
eyes, not one similar
to an audience in a circus act.
The first-generation girl is
taught to speak in silence,
think she has nothing to say.
No, maybe she doesn't know how
to say it, maybe not in English.
Plays in the street, scrapes
her palm on the sidewalk,
let's this land hurt her first,
she thinks that's what
it means to be American.
I know what it is
to be an American.
See, the attitude in my size?
How I walk into a classroom
like I discovered it.
Watch this country celebrate
Christopher Columbus and think
that I too, can conquer
a new mother land,
even if it don't
belong to my mother.
[cheering] No one grabbed at
his wrist and spit his name
into a fire, destroyed
his background
and made him shed his culture.
Oblivious of the
small Ethiopian family
that would soon grow
a fear of heights,
just because of how
many planes they'll fly.
Back and forth, growing
accustomed to the sea.
Thick like my name and my
mothers stubborn accent,
like it doesn't mean holy water.
My tears, their own religion,
but my blood is divine,
they are holy, and
they are mine.
When I mourn, I shave my head,
light my hair, cut my hands
and bleed onto coals,
scream through plane or sea,
loud enough to shatter
Heavens gates.
Heaven, where my mother finds
a new country, as I find mine.
[ Applause ]
>> Elizabeth Acevedo: Woah.
[ Applause ]
We are figuring out the scores
of who the top scorers are.
I want to make one quick
announcement, I have seen phones
out while there were
poets on stage.
Just a reminder that these are
youth poets, if you are planning
to upload any of these videos,
you need to speak to them,
you need assure that
you have permission.
[applause] Because we don't
know what is going out there.
So, unless you got
a media release,
you need to check,
[laughter] right?
Because we want to make sure
that we are protecting their
voices, but also their bodies,
and their visual images,
and where they end up.
So, just be mindful y'all.
That's all right?
Y'all good?
>> Audience: Yeah.
>> Elizabeth Acevedo: The
scores for the last poet
of the last round, we have
a 9.3, a 9.5, and a 9.5.
But give it up for the poet.
[ Applause ]
While we get the scores,
I'm going to just tell
y'all a quick story,
a quick little poem,
and then we're going
to bring up the finalists.
Cool? Y'all have been lovely.
How many people, is
this your first slam?
Ahh, yes first timers, welcome.
[applause] I hope this
is not your last slam.
I see some folks like, naw,
I'm coming back next
year, I'm on it.
I want to tell you all a
story that I try to keep top
of mind whenever I am in
spaces where I'm educating
or where I'm the person
in charge, quote, unquote.
I got my master's
in creative Writing
from the University
of Maryland, and.
[applause] Okay, UMD, yeah.
That wasn't my experience,
but yeah.
[laughter] The program I was in
was a really difficult program,
in that it was, there
were only thirty students,
the cohort was pretty small,
my cohort was approximately
ten students.
I was the only person in
my cohort of Afro decent,
so I was the darkest person
in every single workshop,
[inaudible] I'm light
skinned is a problem,
because that means
[laughter] there a lot of folks
that ain't in this room.
I was the only Latina who was
writing about that experience.
And I was the only person
from a major city, right?
Who was writing about
the city I was from.
If you can't tell from my
accent, I'm from New York.
>> Audience Member: Yass.
>> Elizabeth Acevedo:
Yeah, [laughter] hey.
What this meant, is that
I would come to workshop,
and workshops are usually
spaces where you turn in poems
and the writer sits silently
as you get feedback, right?
I would turn in poems,
and I would get them back
and all the Spanish
words would be circled,
and all the slang
had question marks.
And I would have to sit silently
as people misinterpreted my poem
for however long my
workshop was, right?
And it's in those spaces
that I was told I was going
to be receiving me
credentials in spaces
that didn't always honor what my
voice was actually trying to do.
And it really hit me that
maybe my project was going
to be different than
my classmates.
When my Professor came to class,
he was an old school
dude, right?
[inaudible] in the face, long
ass beard, the kind of Professor
who has a really
melodious voice,
so anytime he talks
you want to lean in.
And then, he says
something real problematic
and you're like, lean back.
[laughter] That kind
of Professor.
He comes to class
one day, he's like,
I just read the most
amazing poem about deer.
[laughter] And I have
no beef with deer,
I think venison is delicious,
[laughter] I think Bambi's
a great [laughter] movie.
[laughter] I am not here to hate
on anybody's wildlife, right?
But I think in spaces like
that or in spaces where we went
to High School, we go to
school, we have this perception
of what a poem can be about,
and we're often taught
that poems are about
flowers, and clouds, and deer.
And I think the pastoral poem
is an incredible form, however,
I think there's a lot of
things we can write about.
So, this Professor goes on and
on for two and a half hours
about this deer poem, and then
goes one step further and says,
I want everybody in the
room to write an animal ode.
And an ode is a praise
poem, right?
It's a poem that
takes something simple
and elevates it to
a greater height.
Like Pablo Neruda's Ode to the
Artichokes, or Ode to the Socks,
which took a domestic item and
talked about revolution, right?
And so, my Professor goes
to one classmate, he's like,
what would you write about?
My classmate says, well, I
would write about the blackbird,
which I don't think is an
original answer, right?
Because the poem Thirteen Ways,
How to See a Blackbird
I think covered that,
I think we're good here, right?
[laughter] He goes to another
classmate, that classmates like,
I would write about
sea anemone's,
and your girl is Googling
under the table like,
what the, is an anemone?
[laughter] How do
we spell anemone?
[laughter] And then, my
Professor gets to me,
and the one piece of writing
advice they love to give you
in these programs is
write what you know.
And growing up in New York City,
there's one creature
I know really well.
[laughter] So, I puff up
my chest and I'm like,
I'm going to write about rats.
[laughter] And I'm hype, right?
I heard somebody saying pigeons.
Pigeons are just
rats with wings,
[laughter] squirrels are
just rats with nicer coats.
They're all rats, [laughter]
and we know them well.
And I'm hype, I feel like
I'm on Family Feud, like,
good answer, you did that.
[laughter] Right?
Talk about the rat.
And my Professor
looks at me and says,
rats are not noble enough
creatures for a poem.
Liz, I thin you need
more experiences.
>> Audience Member: What?
>> Audience Member: Oh, wow.
>> Elizabeth Acevedo: What I
love about the folks who came
up on this stage today,
is that they talked
about the experiences they
had had in their life.
And that if you think you can
look at someone at their age,
at how they present,
at how the speak,
and think you know their story,
you already made
the first mistake,
[applause] That we don't know
the experiences of other people,
and we cant gage what they
can or shouldn't write about.
That you write about
what moves you, right?
And so, I wrote my rat
poem, it's called Rat Ode,
it's my official clap
back to that Professor.
[applause] But mainly, it
serves as a reminder for anybody
who has ever been told your
story is too small, or too ugly,
or too different for
high art, that we are,
all of us, deserving of poetry.
So, this poem is for
every rat in the room.
[ Applause ]
For the Professor who told me
rats are not a noble enough
creature for a poem, a Rat Ode.
[laughter] Because you are
not the admired nightingale,
because you are not
the noble doe,
because you are not
the picturesque ermine,
armadillo, or bat.
They have been written
and I don't know their song
the way I know you're scudding
between walls.
The scent of your
collapsed corpse rotting
beneath floorboards.
Your frantic squill, as you pull
at your own fur from Glue Traps,
ripping flesh from skin
in an attempt to survive.
Because in July of 97', you
birthed a legion on 109th,
swarm from the dumpsters.
Made our streets infamous for
something other than crack.
Shout, we nicknamed
you cat killer.
Raced with you through open
hydrants, squeak like you
when [foreign language
spoken] blast an aluminum bat
into your brothers skull, the
sound slapped down dominoes.
You reined that summer rat,
and even when they sent
exterminators, half dead
and on fire, you pushed on,
because even though you
are an inelegant, simple,
mammal bottom feeder,
always freaken famished,
[laughter] little ugly
thing, [laughter] who feasts
on what crumbs fall from
the corners of our mouths.
You live uncuddled, uncoddled,
can't be bought at Petco and fed
to fat snakes, because you
are not the maze rat of labs,
pale, pretty eyed, trained.
You raised yourself, sucked,
fanged, clawed, scarred,
[inaudible], dark,
because of this.
He should love you, but look at
the beast, the poet tells me.
The table is already
full, and rat,
you are not a right
worthy thing.
Every time they say,
they'll take your gutter,
your dirt coat.
Filth this page rat.
Scrap your underbelly
against streets, concrete.
Your better squeak and
raise the whole world, rat.
Let lose a plague of words,
rat, and remind them that you,
that I, we are worthy
of every poem, here.
[ Applause ]
>> Elizabeth Acevedo: Do
I invite all the first?
I appreciate you all so much.
Thank you for being here, thank
you for sharing a space with me.
I am going to call all of
the poets up to the stage.
Please, put your hands
together for all of the poets.
[ Applause ]
While they are coming to the
stage, please give a round
of applause for the judges,
who had the hardest job
in the room, next to the poets.
[laughter]
[ Applause ]
Every single one of these
young people deserve a round
of applause, whether or
not they are a top scorer.
Y'all were beautiful, you were
wonderful, you were so good.
Yes, yes, yes, standing ovation.
Yes. That's right, that's right.
[ Applause ]
In Third Place, [applause]
receiving $100 gift card,
we have Destany Butler.
Oh yeah, I got you.
[inaudible].
>> Destany Butler: [inaudible].
>> Elizabeth Acevedo:
If you want you can
stand up here with me.
In Second Place,
receiving a $250 gift card,
we have Amina Fatima.
[ Applause ]
I'm so proud of you.
>> Amina Fatima:
Thank you so much.
>> Elizabeth Acevedo: Good job.
[applause] [laughter]
If you could stand up,
I think they want
to do pictures.
In First Place, receiving
a $500 gift cared,
[cheering] let's start the.
[leg patting] We
have Delicia Green.
[ Applause ]
But give it up for
all of the poets.
[ Applause ]
>> Off Camera: Yeah, I know.
Like, wow.
>> Elizabeth Acevedo: I think
we have closing remarks.
I want to thank you all
so much for being here,
for supporting these poets.
If you heard something tonight
that you loved, that moved you,
that made you cry, that
inspired you in some capacity,
please let the poets know
because I know it's not only
the top scorers who touched us.
And so, make sure that
you let the folks know
that they did work
tonight, because they did.
And you all did work tonight, so
I hope that you feel that energy
of being lifted after
an event like this one,
this is what storytelling
can do.
I appreciate you all,
have a wonderful night.
[ Applause ]
