The voices in her head were doing some spoken word.
All her personalities sitting around in the coffee shop of her mind, sipping away.
oohhing and aahhing to the frenzied tempo of the current poem slammer.
Slam after slam, line after line.
She freezes up, tense-she forgets who she is.
"A blue drizzle of hate rains down on the afterthought of love for my fellow human being-(dramatic pause) being alive is seeing "
She wonders why she just said that- she has never heard of a poetry slam, that’s o.k. though, poetry slams have never heard of her.
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