Taylor Made // SPOKEN WORD ARTIST
Spoken Word Artist
Date of Birth: September 23, 1996 ✨ Libra ♎️
Koze Quiz Brew: Coffee Brew
Favourite Quote: “Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light.” - Dylan Thomas
Favourite Song: “Black Butterfly“ by Deniece Williams
Can’t live without...: My family! Some are blood, others I’ve picked up along the way, but family is everything. Nothing else matters.
Best Life Advice: Just keep moving, even when you don’t feel like you can. The more you move, the more often you’ll cross paths with something breathtaking.
Fav Coffee Order: Mocha Cookie Crumble Frappuccino
Anything else you want to share:
“Writer’s Block” by Taylor Made
Writer's block sucks rocks.
The inexplicable inability to inherently invoke the issue of my own intellect
Because without outside help from the internet, I can't seem to find an epithet for the thoughts a poet dreams will one day become kismet.
I am indirectly telling my own fate, but I seem incapable of eliminating the aspect of my future that is my present,
Trying to escape from my past, my craft is a divine present, truly heaven sent.
A relief so strong, I finally found my element, but I'm suspenseful as my readers about what events will unfold from here.
Unable to focus on writing, focus on writing, focus on... what was I saying?
When I'm so low I pop Zoloft, but the effect is so soft, so when I get pissed off, knocks my flow off.
I go off, but not on paper.
No, my pen's been with its cap on, instead I literally zapped on the misogynistic asshat I call my ex.
He had me changing my praying for him to preying on him, my Apostle's Creed to Assassin's Creed, spraying bullets on his bullshit, if only in my daydreams, while my spinach and bananas are spinning in my NutriBullet, cuz this shit ain't problems.
I eat this for breakfast. Southern Belle pouring salt in your wounds, Sugar, I got grit.
Try battle rap when you battle back a battalion,
Gats in my mind firing thoughts from down south to Grandma's house to Lexington Market, cuz all of them are what I'm about.
Am I a Nana's girl or a Bama girl, or can I be when I know how to pearl a perfect blunt?
I'm not a thug or a princess, but I can't be what they want.
And what is that?
A poet? No.
A teacher? Maybe good enough to be second best.
These are the thoughts running a marathon through the catacombs of my mind,
But the minute our thoughts meet, the Minotaur eats, feasting on my vulnerabilities
And still 6-year-old me emotionally crumbles under the weight of the world on Atlas' shoulders.
I at last shoulder the burden of my unique witty conversation, carry the iniquities of the generation before me
As my cross nails me to the God I pray can save me from myself.
So I can't write without offending the white-washed reader or the griot or my grandmother.
I am just too different to tell my truth and be heard, so I try to temper my tongue to teach the tattered minds of toddlers and teenagers.
But I find I can't quench the fire in my soul, can't douse it with politically correct vocabulary, so I'm at a loss for what to say.
An inability to invoke my own intellect.
I’m super excited to announce that my first book “Waves of Consciousness” is available on Amazon now!