ATT Round 1: Writer 14 vs. Writer 19 (Writer 19 wins by N/S)
 

Writer 19

As a child he was never one to be discriminated
Although his skinny stature was never eliminated
While he was young other people’s comments never affected his fragile ears
His grandmother always taught him that when things got tough he should battle fears
The progression of years and articulation
Made him change from the artist who hated to being bombarded through hatred
As a child his ego was the one thing that was strong enough to break through stone gates
But as the words which once had no effect were growing more intellectual he grew to hate his own place.
He tried to stand his ground despite everyone trying to bury him beneath it
His soul trapped inside the prison confinement called his heart with no chance of releasing
He became a mixed drink of one part left alone and two parts tragedy.
What the kids thought to emote was less about common sense just apathy
One night he went home not looking deranged or beaten
He felt the knife pass his throat like strangers meeting.
His mind like TNT lit at both ends as the razor’s leaving.
After that day he was considered highest on the totem pole
Not because he finally had popularity but because he was finally unable to over throw his over dose of broken hope

She was eight years old when she was first called ugly
Throughout her life she would have to rehearse running away to avoid the pushing and shoving
She had a birthmark that covered less than half her face
The kids would always say look at that disgrace.
Or that she looked like a bad mistake that’s only half erased
To this day despite a loving husband she doesn’t think she’s beautiful
Her self esteem and confidence has been trapped away in cubicles
But what they don’t understand is that she is two kids strong
And their definition of beautiful starts with the word “mom”
She will always live with that chip on her shoulder that will grow heavier with each day
This society’s norm allows for no lee way
It’s just the he say she say
Lives stopped like freeze frames.

But this? This is just loose debris
Left over from when we finally do believe
That we can smash all the things we thought we used to be
Our egos crushed under the weight of others anger
As we become more articulate words become less of inferior banter
And more like the last one in the chamber.

Writer 14 = Row