Once again, I convinced my sister to attend a cultural event with me. This was produced by the same two Black women who’d brought that fabulous Juneteenth extravaganza to life a few months ago.
The Emcee & Me
From the description, the event sounded similar to a poetry slam, but set to trap music. Unlike a slam competition, poets weren’t given a time limit, a factor I missed. The total points awarded that night ranged from the mid 70s to over 100. I had no idea what a perfect score would have been nor how many judges were present.
General seating consisted of a row of four seats on either side of the aisle, so my sister and I took up half of a row. Two other Black women, who had each come to the event by themselves, joined us near the start of the program. By the end of the night, one couldn’t tell that we hadn’t all planned to meet one another there.
One of the best aspects of the event was the audience participation. We were vocally supportive for the brave poets. Three out of eight poets flamed out, forgetting their words and needing either to restart a few times or outright read the words from their phone.
Between the contestants’ performance was special guest poets. The audience reacted more raucously to them. Not only were they seasoned performers, but they took their craft to surprising levels that either shocked the hell of us or made us laugh out loud. My favorite line of the night occurred when one of the featured poets stated that his bed was made out of “I wish a nigga wood (would).”
The evening’s theme was “Toxic AF,” so every poem involved relationships that took the poet to hell and back. Most ended their performance with them vanquishing their ex toxic partner.
By the end of the evening, I was happy that none of my relationships had taken me to such depths of anguish. That’s the silver lining to being so focused on myself and my own goals.