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Tag Archives: poets

Check out this interview with Britta B. and Ryan B. Patrick from Canada Arts Connect Magazine:
URBAN/Intersection: Spoken Word Poet Britta B.

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With my impatience
I can build a Ruin in a day
and let it ruin my whole week

Britta B.

Ever since I was born I can remember
I both hated myself and wanted
to make people’s lives better.
I learned very slowly
that these two energies don’t
work together, they work against each other.

Sometimes, I still hate myself
but I know this is a passing feeling or thought
that I am stronger than. That I am loved despite this.

But what will always be a part of me is my
undying urge to make a difference.
                                              To change somebody.
                                              To inspire and encourage.

Britta B.

It’s not true, you’re just crazy
’bout

lips and tips,
                      garment rips
hot tea sips and flips a table
turn tables; Gladys Knight and the Pips
under a lunar eclipse
saw a rock climber with identity grips
paper clips
you, me and all these ex relationships
first class trips into
                         vanilla
                                 dips
Bloods & Crypts
Goons, tunes and hips
swinging half moons and heavenly
hash chocolate chips
rocky
mountains
and smooth sailing ships
you, me and all these Jump Rope for Heart beat skips…

You wanted a little more, didn’t you?

Britta B.

Standing
Posing
Looking out, perched on the corner
of Shuter and Parliament… above Queen Street
looking for somewhere to go

I’m on a quest for
something
but I can’t tell you what I’m looking for

***

Sometimes big puffs of black smoke will
come along,
I always think my first heartache is the driver;
it takes me a sea of molten lava constructed in under 36 seconds by the
holding of my breath to not run
out into the street, bang on the hood of that car
screaming, “It’s me!! I found you!”

Britta B.

I hate the word “speechless”
but the English language is what I speak most
yet, amongst all of the letters and the sounds and the meanings it consists of
I have nothing to say
nothing true enough in its form to describe the immense amount of
appreciation I have for you

Lil’ buddy, you make me embarrassingly proud

I can react to disappointment like an animal
use my outdoor voice to spill my best kept secrets
slam a door in your face
act a fool
cry, pig out, cry, leave the country, cry,
not talk to you for days (because that’s all we can ever really last)
go out and make friends with strange and unusual people
use words I don’t know the meanings of and cry
let myself think for a moment that it’s possible to lose you then cry some more
and there you’ll be – right beside me on a stoop
somewhere, anywhere because this city is ours
no matter how many names deface it with graffiti we can’t read

The other day, you tried reading my palm with a stack of cards you found in a house
you keep coming back to despite your plans and executions  
and I wondered –
what are you really trying to tell me that
I don’t already know?

And now I remember
how you’ve always been a reminder
a red tie around my finger
a badge of honour, a souvenir
you are the acceptance speech I wrote when I was 6 years old
after throwing crying fit in my closet
because you get me when words fail me

There is no sound for this

It’s not like me to be the unlikely me so upfront, so close and personal
but you welcome me
and there is no sound for this
there is no sound in welcoming the unsound
it is merely a silent
ovation
  

Britta B.

*LOVE YOU, LIL BUDDY!! HAPPY 25th BIRTHDAY
MAY ALL YOUR HAKIM “THE DREAM”‘s COME TRUE!!!*