Here’s the poems from the last book of the Slammed series by Colleen Hoover. If you want to read the Slammed series, you can go to this link and just click on the title of the book to download the PDF version =)
A Very Long Poem
This poem is very long
So long, in fact, that your attention span
May be stretched to its very limits
But that’s okay
It’s what’s so special about poetry
See, poetry takes time
We live in a time
Call it our culture or society
It doesn’t matter to me ’cause neither
A time where most people don’t want to
Our throats wait like matchsticks waiting
to catch fire
Waiting until we can speak
No patience to listen
But this poem is long
It’s so long, in fact, that during the time
of this poem
You could’ve done any number of other
You could’ve called your father
Call your father
You could be writing a postcard right
Write a postcard
When was the last time you wrote a
You could be outside
You’re probably not too far away from a
sunrise or a sunset
Watch the sun rise
Maybe you could’ve written your own
A better poem
You could have played a tune or sung a
You could have met your neighbor
And memorized their name
Memorize the name of your neighbor
You could’ve drawn a picture(or, at
least, colored one in)
You could’ve started a book
Or finished a prayer
You could’ve talked to God
When was the last time you prayed?
This is a long poem
So long, in fact, that you’ve already
spent a minute with it
When was the last time you hugged a
friend for a minute?
Or told them that you love them?
Tell your friends you love them
. . . no, I mean it,
Say, I love you
Say, you make life worth living
Because that is what friends do
Of all of the wonderful things that you
During this very, very long poem
You could have connected
Maybe you are connecting
Maybe we’re connecting
See, I believe that the only things that
In the grand scheme of life are
God and people
And if people are made in the image of
Then when you spend your time with
It’s never wasted
And in this very long poem
I’m trying to let a poem do what a poem
Make things simpler
We don’t need poems to make things
We have each other for that
We need poems to remind ourselves of
the things that really matter
To take time
A long time
To be alive for the sake of someone else
for a single moment
Or for many moments
’Cause we need each other
To hold the hands of a broken person
All you have to do is meet a person
Shake their hand
Look in their eyes
They are you
We are all broken together
But these shattered pieces of our existence
don’t have to be a mess
We just have to care enough to hold our
To sit and listen to a very long poem
A story of a life
The joy of a friend and the grief of a
To hold and be held
And be quiet
Write a postcard
Call your parents and forgive them and
then thank them
Turn off the TV
Create art as best as you can
Share as much as possible, especially
Tell someone about a very long poem
you once heard
And how afterward it brought you
I dreamt about this girl last night.
In my dream I was standing on the
edge of a cliff
Looking down over a vast, barren
I wasn’t wearing any shoes and the
rocks were crumbling beneath my
It would have been so easy to take a
To move away from the ledge,
Away from a certain inevitable life
that had somehow been determined
a life that had somehow become my
It had been my life for two years and I
I had not embraced it,
But I had accepted it.
It was where I belonged.
As much as it didn’t appeal to me, as
much as I yearned for the rivers and
mountains and trees,
As much as I yearned to hear their
songs . . .
To hear their . . . poetry?
It was apparent that what I yearned for
wasn’t decided by me . . .
it was decided for me.
So . . . I did the only thing I could do.
The only thing I should do.
I prepared myself to embrace this life.
I sucked it up and took a deep breath. I
placed my hands on the edge of the
cliff and began to lower myself onto
the rocks protruding from the edge. I
burrowed my fingers deep into the
crevices and slowly began lowering
Down into the vast,
that had become
But then . . .
Then this girl . . .
Holy hell, this girl . . .
She appeared out of nowhere, standing
directly in front of me on the edge of
that cliff. She looked down at me with
her sad eyes that ran a million miles
deep . . .
and she smiled at me.
This girl smiled at me.
A look that cut straight to my core
and pierced through my heart like a
million of Cupid’s arrows,
One right on top of the other, on top of
the other, on top of the other
Straight . . .
Into . . .
My heart . . .
Now this is the part of the dream where
most girls would bend down and grab
my hands, telling me not to go . . . not
to do it. This is the part of the dream
where most girls would grab my
wrists and brace themselves with
their feet as they pulled me up with
every ounce of strength in their being.
This is the part of the dream where
most girls would scream at the top of
their lungs for help, doing anything
and everything they could to save
me . . .
To rescue me
But this girl.
This girl wasn’t most girls.
This girl . . .
This girl did something even better.
First, she sat down on the edge of the
cliff and kicked off her shoes and we
both watched as they fell and fell and
fell and continued to fall until they
landed in a heap. One shoe right on top
of the other in that vast, barren valley
Then she slid a rubber band off her
Reached behind her . . .
And pulled her hair
into a knot.
And then this girl
This girl . . .
She placed her hands right next to
mine on the edge of that cliff and she
slowly began to lower herself off of it.
She poked her bare feet into
whatever crevice she could find next
to mine. She dug the fingers of her
right hand into the cracks between
the rocks, then placed her left hand
directly . . .
on top . . .
She looked down at the vast, barren
valley below us, then she looked back
up at me and she smiled.
She looked at me and smiled and
said . . .
“Are you ready?”
And I was.
I finally was.
I had never been more ready in my
Yeah . . .
My mother would have loved this girl.
Too bad she was just a dream.
If my dad were alive, he’d be sitting
Watching me up here, with a smile on
He’d be proud of the man I’ve become
He’d be proud that I stepped up to take
If my mother were alive, she’d be at
Teaching my brother all the things she
She’d be proud of the man I’ve become
She’d be proud of who I grew up to be
But they aren’t here. They haven’t
been for a while.
It takes time, but it’s starting to make
I still miss them every time I take a
Their absence will never go unnoticed.
But every smile on your face seems to
A memory I’d rather not hold
Each time you laugh, it fills a void
Each kiss heals another wound in my
If my dad were here, he’d be sitting with
He’d be hugging you . . . saying thank
Thank you for saving my boy.
Thank you for bringing light to his
If my mother were here, she’d be so
To finally have a daughter in her life
She’d love you as much as I love you
She’d make me promise to one day
make you my wife
But they aren’t here. They haven’t been
for a while.
But I can feel their pride. I can feel their
I can hear them say, “You’re welcome,
When I thank them for sending
you from heaven.
My Final Piece
We’re born into the world
As just one small piece to the puzzle
That makes up an entire life.
It’s up to us throughout our years,
to find all of our pieces that fit.
The pieces that connect who we are
To who we were
To who we’ll one day be.
Sometimes pieces will almost fit.
They’ll feel right.
We’ll carry them around for a while,
Hoping they’ll change shape.
Hoping they’ll conform to our puzzle.
But they won’t.
We’ll eventually have to let them go.
To find the puzzle that is their home.
Sometimes pieces won’t fit at all.
No matter how much we want them
We’ll shove them.
We’ll bend them.
We’ll break them.
But what isn’t meant to be,
Those are the hardest pieces of all to
The pieces of our puzzle
That just don’t belong.
But occasionally . . .
Not very often at all,
If we’re lucky,
If we pay enough attention,
We’ll find a
The pieces of the puzzle that slide
The pieces that hug the contours of
our own pieces.
The pieces that lock to us.
The pieces that we lock to.
The pieces that fit so well, we can’t tell
where our piece begins
And that piece ends.
Those pieces we call
They’re all the pieces that complete
They line the edges,
Frame the corners,
Those pieces are the pieces that make
us who we are.
Who we were.
Who we’ll one day be.
Up until today,
When I looked at my own puzzle,
I would see a finished piece.
I had the edges lined,
The corners framed,
The center filled.
It felt like it was complete.
All the pieces were therespan>.
I had everything I wanted.
Everything I needed.
Everything I dreamt of.
But up until today,
I realized I had collected all
but one piece.
The most vital piece.
The piece that completes the picture.
The piece that completes my whole
I held this girl in my arms
She wrapped her tiny fingers
It was then that I realized
She was the fusion.
The cement that bound all my pieces
The piece that seals my puzzle.
The piece that completes my life.
The element that makes me who I am.
Who I was.
Who I’ll one day be.
You, baby girl.
You’re my final piece.