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Category Archives: Spoken Word

There’s just something about somebody
who just
shows up
unannounced, no calls
no signals

just appears

He just shows up
from around the corner

gives you that look
that you can’t look

away from

Britta B.

Stewing in the skin of my inward eye
probable and prone to tunnel vision
I satisfy
the perversity of repetition

When impulse takes me by the hand
we give substance to silhouettes
We do what we must
to quiet the fuss

Out to seek
what is seeking me
Hunting for a higher Truth

People hand the best they can
not the way
you want them to

When I say, I have no words
I’m not trying hard enough
When I say, I have no choice
my mind’s been made up

We do what we must
to quiet the fuss

With my voice, I collapse
I’ve never had my heart broken
only an ego scratched
and my desire requires many reminders

Harmonious woman, you deliver life
everything else passes or purely assists
Don’t try to make love
it already exists

And excuse
my imposition
but consider the privilege
it is to consider the position

you’re in

isn’t as much as what you leave
as it is
to where you return

When will you learn you have so much to learn?

Oh, we do what

Britta B.


Special Thanks to: Paul Janicki, producer/editor

…a little bit about an event Britta B. performed on June 30th, 2012 at Ngoma Lounge in Toronto, Canada.

May 28th, 2012 at Mike Geffner’s Inspired Word in Manhattan, New York.

i’ve created delight. pulling my hair.
pretending it’s you.

i can pinch and know it’s me pinching
i can scratch and know it’s me scratching
i can bite and know it’s my mouth
i can lick and kiss and rub and frisk my whole body
and not be able to trick myself

but pulling my hair. i’m convinced it could be you.

i twirl. and twist.
a handful of waves // damp
bottom hair
never sees the sun // i pull.
as hard as i want to.

as hard as you would
if i told you to. (hey, a little harder next time)

i’ve created delight.
pretending it’s you, pulling my hair.

Britta B.

But I can’t confess how lonely it gets
to sit in a room full of all your favourite things

To stare

the whole night through
at the ground (or the bottom of something)
of a brother who never calls
and a friend who always answers

I am the only one here.
I am the only one here.

And to stay here (everywhere I go)

alone, attached

to some detachment that bribes me into
laughing at the world every time I fall; God forbid
I show any signs of weakness

Britta B.

my mind
face planted against a glass ceiling 
the moment he walked in and stole the room’s attention.

him, yeah him, that one

he barked with a grin about how good of a day he was having
as i made an unannounced agreement with my pride to not say anything
to seduce him

yeah him, that one

shortly after,
we locked eyes

and i was high
looking down
at the remains of my heart

i had to remind myself to blink

it was like i was watching myself in a car crash
replaying it in my mind (actually seeing me step out into the street)
but from the angle of a hospital bed
hooked up to a moniter with a wristed IV


how smoothly the morphine spread throughout my skin…

feeling how good it feels to be weak
every. single. time. he began to speak.
he licked my spine
with his limerick pick up lines
and i felt parts of my soul splatter and leak

the walls of my mind, i was dripping
the walls of
my mind, i was dripping
the walls
of my mind, i was


off of his chin
and into his lap


he leaned in my direction across the table
and confessed,
what are you doin’ later? i need company
he was honest.

him. yeah him. that one.

why can’t we all be more honest?

like him. yeah him. that one.

i’ve never felt more vulnerable
as I did watching another man

himself for me.

Britta B.

They say, “Everyone smiles in the same language”
But what does the rain sound like in France,
Columbia or Saudi Arabia?

What does Chinese food taste like in China?
Or how about green curry in Thailand?
How do Egyptians get sand out of their eye?
And what is it that’s keeping people up at night in the city that never sleeps?
I wonder if we share the same dreams…

I wish I could pack up my bags and take ’em down
to the fastest way out of this town
Dive heart-first into a crowd
full of foreign faces
Untie my laces, wiggle my toes
and dig my feet into the soil of what somebody else calls ‘home’
I want to find myself getting lost
in the middle of the world everyone else seems
to think they know
so well.

Britta B.