Yesterday, through no fault of my own, I attended a poetry slam hosted by Hammer and Tongue. The ubiquitous Spoken Word collective who, on the first Wednesday of every month, host a series of poetry slams where I work. Despite not being the most enthralled individual by poetry and poetry slams (mostly because of how it really feels like finding a diamond in a heap of shit to me), I'm pretty open to the nights in which we host because I believe the people I work with have amazing taste.
The night opened with readings from a few poets, one of which was Salena Godden, and then after an hour or so the poetry slam started. The night was pretty slow but the venue was very full and it went on to the final round of the four hopeful finalists who would be going to the National Slam at the Royal Albert Hall on the 21stof June, alongside Kate Tempest.
However, this is where I lost all hope in humanity and the poetry slamming community forever and ever. The first of two winners, who achieved the highest score of the entire night, over all, recited a poem that started with (something along the lines of) “And I know you say you just want a 'nice boyfriend'” and there followed three minutes of him criticising himself for his “bitch tits” and “five foot six” and how she really, truly, deserves a nice boyfriend, but she shouldn't say she wants just a nice boyfriend because she doesn't want just a nice boyfriend. She wants intelligence, height, humour, a good jaw and not him.
Honestly, I don't remember his name, I'm sure it was something like Mike or Tom or something as equally forgettable as the rest of the night was but as I sat on the door with the sounds of people applauding his win, I couldn't help feel like … yeah I know he rhymed six and tits but does he really deserve to win? Isn't content important at all?

