Change: A Slam Poem

Change. It’s a thing I have come to hate due to a poor, and rather recent reputation. It used to be a refreshing and rejuvenating experience. To change your viewpoint and see a new perspective. To change your subject and find a new passion. To change your location and find a new home. Change was once something I loved and, at times, even looked forward to. But then one day it decided to change in the wrong direction. It took a wrong turn rather than a right turn... It made my perspective blur, my passion die and my home disappear. Change caused my life to fall apart rather than be built up. I lost everything I cared for and loved. I lost everything I enjoyed and adored. I lost the ability to be lost in the sweet aroma of life. Instead it put me in a wasteland where everywhere I looked I saw the same view like an omnipresent copy paste. I was left with a desire to create but yet nothing was there to provide inspiration, or even determination, for that matter. I was put in a home that wasn’t home, never was home and could never be home. They say all things happen for a reason but at that moment, I shook my head at that idea and cried because what reason could be good enough for this to happen to me? What master plan could be wonderful enough to let my joy and wonder die in the process? So I yelled at the Master Planner and asked him those questions, but in return all I was left with were more questions. Why do blessings go to where I once was, but curses fall on where I am now? Why don’t the dominos stop falling or, at the very least, change course? Why can’t I be spared from this inhuman humanity? So the next time instead of asking him why, I asked the Planner what. What am I doing here? What happened to my joy? What is there for me here other than pain? What did I do to deserve this? Silence fell and no answers or questions were given. But as time passed and days died, I later found what I was looking for. I found my answer. And with this answer I found a new perspective. With this answer I found a new passion. With this answer I found a new home. And so I took my answer and I cradled it in my arms. I cherished my answer and I became protective of it when other questions came that threatened to take my answer away. I kept my answer close and I adored it because I waited so long for it that I never wanted to let it go. And I still don’t. I love my answer, and it was worth the wait. But then, I notice that the Planner has a new plan. And with this plan comes more change. And I panic. I worry, I cling tighter to my answer than before because I know what change did last time, and I can see that gleam in his eye that says that he’ll do it again. So now there is a frey inside me raging, as I try to come to terms with what will happen, try not to think of what might happen and pray that in the end nothing does happen, but in the back of my head I know that it’s all in vain. So I am left battle scarred from the inside out and I am diagnosed with post traumatic stress making me an unstable mess from the inside out. And I want to cry, I want to weep, I want to shed tears so that I may drown my sorrows, but the floodgates won’t open. So I just sit there and hug my answer because there is nothing else I want to do because there is nothing else for me to do, except to wait. Except to wait for the change to come again, wait to resist his taking of my precious answer, wait to see where he takes my beloved answer, wait to see if the relocation is close enough for me to touch my adored answer and wait to see if the new questions share the same, beautiful answer. But now I don’t have to wait any longer. Because my answer came, and my answer said “no.” And so the tears finale come.