Slam - Amazing at Football

Slam rules require a piece to be 3 minutes or less; there's a ten second grace period, and then points start coming off. "Amazing at Football" was one of the pieces to get some razorblade shaving.

There's a kid
who carves swastikas
into his eyelids
and his cheeks
he's pretty creepy
but I can talk to him about you
he understands
all the things I want
to do to you
not really, I suppose
neither of us do
we're both in 4th grade
we don't really know what it means
to tie someone up
out in the woods
cut them a thousand times
add salt and vinegar
and let them lie there
for a few weeks
we talk about it
I, I dream about it
it's monstrous
but for you
it's more than you deserve
my mother doesn't scream
not when you put her 
through the shower door
not when you wrap your hands
around her throat
not when you're stringing nooses
in the backyard
there's thuds and grunts
but she only screams
when you come after us
my sisters are not sluts
my brother and I are not pieces of shit
you could've worked for Pinochet
you know every spot on the body that hurts
from the web of the ears
to the nerves in the armpit
they cry, they scream
so Mom screams
I don't
not anymore
I don't scream
I don't cry
thanks to you
I do not feel pan
I'm aware it exists
but I can turn it off
like a switch
I will say this
it makes me amazing at football
and glad I'm the oldest
that I'm big, that I'm a boy
it means I piss you off the most
it means I can take the heat
off the others
I can handle the fists
and the belt 
and the boots
it means I can endure
it means I'm gonna be awesome at football
but 
it doesn't mean I'm strong enough
to stand up to you
to feed you a steak knife 
while you sleep
to Mark McGwire a cast-iron skillet
at your temple
while you're busy
with someone else's neck
to end you and our suffering
I'm sick of it
sick of the question
"what does your father do?"
and making up some new story
so sick of hearing
"he's such a great father"
and biting back the truth
so sick of the salt
In tears and blood
the flavors of my home sweet home
so sick of being terrified
there's blood on the walls
when I call the house 
and no one picks up the phone
I'm sick of making more money than you
I'm in high school
it's not my job
to put food on the table
I'm sick of all this
and it makes me fucking amazing at football
because I run on rage
I channel fire and hell
run raw fuck you all across 100 yards
and it scares the fuck out of me
because I look like you
I sound like you
and my biggest fear
is that I am you
that this fire
is yours
I know you were amazing at football
I grew up watching where that goes
I can take and toss girls
like the Band-Aids they're not
it's so much easier to break someone else
than to fix yourself
I know you were amazing at football
but my model for life is everything you are not
my to-do list is everything you were too afraid to try
there's a water to quench this rage
wine and work, ink on skin and page
I don't need this fire
fuck being amazing at football
I'd rather be a man