Great Throughts Treasury

This site is dedicated to the memory of Dr. Alan William Smolowe who gave birth to the creation of this database.

Sarah Kay

American Poet, Founder and Co-Director of Project V.O.I.C.E.

"And know this: Know you are the type of woman who is searching for a place to call yours. Let the statues crumble. You have always been the place. You are a woman who can build it yourself. You were born to build."

"Artistry is important. Skill, hard work, rewriting, editing, and careful, careful craft: All of these are necessary. These are what separate the beginners from experienced artists."

"At this point in my life - age 24 - I have chosen a fairly strange path that not many are walking. I am a professional spoken word poet who tours the world performing and teaching. I run an organization called Project VOICE dedicated to using this art form as an education and empowerment tool in schools and communities of all kinds."

"But I have seen the best of you and the worst of you, and I choose both. I want to share every single one of your sunshines and save them for later. I will tuck them into my pockets so I can give them back to you when the rain falls hard. Friend, I want to be the mirror that reminds you to love yourself. I want to be the air in your lungs that reminds you to breath. When the walls come down, when the thunder rumbles, when nobody else is home, hold my hand, and I promise I won?t let go."

"Because there is nothing more beautiful than the way the ocean refuses to stop kissing the shoreline, no matter how many times it's sent away."

"Forgive yourself for the decisions you have made, the ones you still call mistakes when you tuck them in at night."

"How strange, that when you are away, I reach for my cell phone's buzz as if it were your hand. Each shiver in my pocket, a way to find you."

"Her dress is the color of marmalade, she chirps songs that have no words."

"I have always been more comfortable with daredevil acts than with the everyday nuances of life. Let me jump out of a plane, speak in front of a roomful of strangers, even trek across Siberia."

"Hands learn. More than minds do."

"Fingers interlocked like a beautiful accordion of flesh or a zipper of prayer."

"I have always fallen in love with far too many postage stamps. When you appeared on my doorstep wearing nothing but a postcard province?no, appeared is the wrong word. Is there a word for sucker-punching someone in the heart? Is there a word for when you?re sitting at the bottom of a roller coaster and you realize that the climb?s coming, that you know what the climb means, that you can already feel the flip in your stomach from the fall before you even moved. Is there a word for that? There should be. You can only fit so many words in a postcard?only so many in a phone call?only so many into space before you forget that words are sometimes used for things other than filling emptiness. It?s hard to build a body out of words. I have tried. We have both tried. Instead of holding your head to my chest, I tell you about the boy who lives downstairs from me; who stays up all night long practicing his drum set. The neighbors have complained. They have busy days tomorrow but he keeps on thumping through the night convinced that practice makes perfect. Instead of holding my hand, you tell me about a sandwich you made for lunch today; how the pickles fit so perfectly with the lettuce. Practice does not make perfect. Practice makes permanent. Repeat the same mistakes over and over and you don?t get any closer to Carnegie Hall, even I know that. Repeat the same mistakes over and over and you don?t get any closer. You never get any closer. Is there a word for the moment you win tug-of-war? When the weight gives in and all that extra rope comes hurdling towards you; how even though you?ve won, you still wind up with muddy knees and burns on your hands. Is there a word for that? I wish there was. I would have said it when we were finally together on your couch, neither one of us with anything left to say. Still now, I send letters into space hoping that some mailman somewhere will track you down and recognize you from the description in my poems. That he will place the stack of them in your hands and tell you, there is a girl that still writes to you? she doesn?t know how not to."

"I have seen the best of you, and the worst of you, and I choose both."

"I have always liked coming home and sharing what has happened that day with my loved ones. I like comparing notes. I know other people do, too. I think there is a human instinct to tell stories, no matter who you are or where you live."

"I want her to know that this world is made out of sugar. It can crumble so easily but don?t be afraid to stick your tongue out and taste it."

"I will love you with too many commas, but never any asterisks."

"I promise to tidy up before company arrives, wouldn't want my socks and daydreams all over the carpet."

"I think there is a human instinct to tell stories, no matter who you are or where you live."

"I?m gonna paint the solar system on the backs of her hands so she has to learn the entire universe before she can say ?oh I know that like the back of my hand."

"Is there a word for the moment you win tug-of-war? When the weight gives, and all that extra rope comes hurtling towards you, how even though you've won, you still end up with muddy knees and burns on your hands? Is there a word for that? I wish there was."

"If I should have a daughter, instead of 'Mom,' she's gonna call me 'Point B,' because that way she knows that no matter what happens, at least she can always find her way to me. And I'm going to paint solar systems on the backs of her hands so she has to learn the entire universe before she can say, 'Oh, I know that like the back of my hand.'"

"If I should have a daughter??Instead of ?Mom?, she?s gonna call me ?Point B.? Because that way, she knows that no matter what happens, at least she can always find her way to me. And I?m going to paint the solar system on the back of her hands so that she has to learn the entire universe before she can say ?Oh, I know that like the back of my hand.? She?s gonna learn that this life will hit you, hard, in the face, wait for you to get back up so it can kick you in the stomach. But getting the wind knocked out of you is the only way to remind your lungs how much they like the taste of air. There is hurt, here, that cannot be fixed by band-aids or poetry, so the first time she realizes that Wonder-woman isn?t coming, I?ll make sure she knows she doesn?t have to wear the cape all by herself. Because no matter how wide you stretch your fingers, your hands will always be too small to catch all the pain you want to heal. Believe me, I?ve tried. And ?Baby,? I?ll tell her ?don?t keep your nose up in the air like that, I know that trick, you?re just smelling for smoke so you can follow the trail back to a burning house so you can find the boy who lost everything in the fire to see if you can save him. Or else, find the boy who lit the fire in the first place to see if you can change him.? But I know that she will anyway, so instead I?ll always keep an extra supply of chocolate and rain boats nearby, ?cause there is no heartbreak that chocolate can?t fix. Okay, there?s a few heartbreaks chocolate can?t fix. But that?s what the rain boots are for, because rain will wash away everything if you let it. I want her to see the world through the underside of a glass bottom boat, to look through a magnifying glass at the galaxies that exist on the pin point of a human mind. Because that?s how my mom taught me. That there?ll be days like this, ?There?ll be days like this my momma said? when you open your hands to catch and wind up with only blisters and bruises. When you step out of the phone booth and try to fly and the very people you wanna save are the ones standing on your cape. When your boots will fill with rain and you?ll be up to your knees in disappointment and those are the very days you have all the more reason to say ?thank you,? ?cause there is nothing more beautiful than the way the ocean refuses to stop kissing the shoreline no matter how many times it?s sent away. You will put the ?wind? in win some lose some, you will put the ?star? in starting over and over, and no matter how many land mines erupt in a minute be sure your mind lands on the beauty of this funny place called life. And yes, on a scale from one to over-trusting I am pretty damn naive but I want her to know that this world is made out of sugar. It can crumble so easily but don?t be afraid to stick your tongue out and taste it. ?Baby,? I?ll tell her ?remember your mama is a worrier but your papa is a warrior and you are the girl with small hands and big eyes who never stops asking for more.? Remember that good things come in threes and so do bad things and always apologize when you?ve done something wrong but don?t you ever apologize for the way your eyes refuse to stop shining. Your voice is small but don?t ever stop singing and when they finally hand you heartbreak, slip hatred and war under your doorstep and hand you hand-outs on street corners of cynicism and defeat, you tell them that they really ought to meet your mother."

"It does not matter how strong your gravity is, we were always meant to fly."

"It is December, and nobody asked if I was ready."

"It is equally important to listen as it is to speak."

"Life will hit you hard in the face, wait for you to get back up just so it can kick you in the stomach. But getting the wind knocked out of you is the only way to remind your lungs how much they like the taste of air."

"Most days it feels as if the world is whirling around me and I am standing still. In slow motion, I watch the colors blur; people and faces all become a massive wash."

"My first spoken word poem, packed with all the wisdom of a 14-year-old, was about the injustice of being seen as unfeminine. The poem was very indignant, and mainly exaggerated, but the only spoken word poetry that I had seen up until that point was mainly indignant, so I thought that that's what was expected of me."

"Not all poetry wants to be storytelling. And not all storytelling wants to be poetry. But great storytellers and great poets share something in common: They had something to say, and did."

"My self-confidence can be measured out in teaspoons mixed into my poetry, and it still always tastes funny in my mouth."

"Some nights, I wake up knowing he is anxious. He is across the world in another woman's arms and the years have spread us like dandelion seeds, sanding down the edges of our jigsaw parts that used to only fit each other"

"My world was the size of a crayon box, and it took every color to draw her"

"Perusing colorful storylines on the backs of book jackets, I realized that none of them could possibly be as dramatic as my life to date. Then sadly, I also realized I could never find the ending of my story from the safety of an armchair."

"She makes tea by hand. Nettles, slippery elm, turmeric, cinnamon - my mother is a recipe for warm throats and belly laughs. Once she fell off a ladder when I was three. She says all she was worried about was my face as I watched her fall."

"Sometimes the only way I know how to work through something is by writing a poem. And sometimes I get to the end of the poem and look back and go, 'Oh, that's what this is all about,' and sometimes I get to the end of the poem and haven't solved anything, but at least I have a new poem out of it."

"Still now I send letters into space hoping that some mailman somewhere will track you down and recognize you from the descriptions in my poems that he will place the stack of them in your hands and tell you, there is a girl who still writes you, she doesn't know how not to."

"Some people read palms to tell your future, but I read hands to tell your past. Each scar makes a story worth telling. Each callused palm, each cracked knuckle is a missed punch or years in a factory."

"Spoken word poetry is the art of performance poetry. I tell people it involves creating poetry that doesn't just want to sit on paper, that something about it demands it be heard out loud or witnessed in person."

"Such a little thing really, a kiss... most people don't give it a moment's consideration. They kiss on meeting, they kiss on parting, that simple touching of flesh is taken entirely for granted as a basic human right."

"There?ll be days like this, my momma said. When you open your hands to catch and wind up with only blisters and bruises; when you step out of the phone booth and try to fly and the very people you want to save are the ones standing on your cape; when your boots will fill with rain, and you?ll be up to your knees in disappointment."

"There was no secret I did not tell him, there was no moment we did not share. We didn't grow up, we grew in; like ivy wrapping, molding each other into perfect yins and yangs"

"The first love of my life never saw me naked - there was always a parent coming home in half an hour - always a little brother in the next room. Always too much body and not enough time for me to show it. Instead, I gave him my shoulder, my elbow, the bend of my knee - I lent him my corners, my edges, the parts of me I could afford to offer - the parts I had long since given up trying to hide. He never asked for more. He gave me back his eyelashes, the back of his neck, his palms - we held each piece we were given like it was a nectarine that could bruise if we weren?t careful. We collected them like we were trying to build an orchid. And the spaces that he never saw, the ones my parents half labeled private parts when I was still small enough to fit all of myself and my worries inside a bathtub - I made up for that by handing over all the private parts of me. There was no secret I didn?t tell him, there was no moment I didn?t share - and we didn?t grow up, we grew in, like ivy wrapping, molding each other into perfect yings and yangs. We kissed with mouths open, breathing his exhale into my inhale - we could have survived underwater or outer space. Breathing only of the breathe we traded, we spelled love, g-i-v-e, I never wanted to hide my body from him - if I could have I would have given it all away with the rest of me - I did not know it was possible. To save some thing for myself. Some nights I wake up knowing he is anxious, he is across the world in another woman?s arms - the years have spread us like dandelion seeds - sanding down the edges of our jigsaw parts that used to only fit each other. He drinks from the pitcher on the night stand, checks the digital clock, it is 5am - he tosses in sheets and tries to settle, I wait for him to sleep. Before tucking myself into elbows and knees reach for things I have long since given up."

"There's nothing more beautiful than the way the ocean refuses to stop kissing the shoreline, no matter how many times it's sent away."

"There is a girl who still writes you; she doesn?t know how not to."

"They'll be days like this my momma said. When you open your hands to catch, and wind up with only blisters and bruises. When you try to step out of the phone booth and try to fly , and the very people you want to save, are the ones standing on your cape. When your boots will fill with rain, and you'll be up to your knees with disappointment and those are the very days you have all the more reason to say Thank you."

"This is how I disappear in pieces. This is how I leave while not moving from my seat. This is how I dance away. This is how I'm gone before you wake."

"This life will hit you--hard. In the face! It'll wait for you to get back up, just so it can kick you in the stomach. But getting the wind knocked out of you, is the only way to remind your lungs how much they like the taste of air."

"To me, having the courage to tell your own story goes hand in hand with having the curiosity and humility to listen to others' stories."

"We were dandelion seeds released to the wind, she asked for no return. We are saplings now. With gentle hands."

"When I hear other people's stories, I like to believe that they contribute to my 'Encyclopedia of Human Experience.' The stories I hear help me expand my definition of what love is, what pain feels like, what sacrifice means, what laughter can do."