Button Poetry First Readings – Kait Rokowski – “A Good Day”


Ok so this is short and I know you guys are
gonna judge it, or short for a slam poem I guess. It’s not really that short. But I
don’t really care about the scores on this poem. For once, I’m going to ask you guys
to help me with a little bit of therapy, which I don’t do a lot in slam anymore.
So this is not going to be the best poem I have written, but I think it’s the most
important poem I’ve written for myself in the last year and a half, so thank you. Yesterday, I spent 60 dollars on groceries, took the bus home, carried both bags with
two good arms back to my studio apartment and cooked myself dinner. You and I may have
different definitions of a good day. This week, I paid my rent and my credit card bill,
worked 60 hours between my two jobs, only saw the sun on my cigarette breaks. I slept
like a rock. Flossed in the morning, locked my door, remembered to buy eggs. My mother
is proud of me. It is not the kind of pride she brags about at the golf course. She doesn’t
combat topics like, ”My daughter got into Yale” with, “Oh yeah, my daughter remembered
to buy eggs,” but she is proud. See, she remembers what came before this.
The weeks where I forgot how to use my muscles, how I would stay as silent as a thick fog
for weeks. She thought each phone call from an unknown number was the notice of my suicide.
These were the bad days. My life was a gift I wanted to return. My head was a house of
leaking faucets and burnt-out lightbulbs. Depression, is a good lover. So attentive;
has this innate way of making everything about you. And it is easy to forget that your bedroom
is not the world, that the dark shadows your pain casts is not mood-lighting. It is easier
to stay in this abusive relationship than fix the problems it has created. Today, I slept in until 10, cleaned every
dish I own, fought with the bank, took care of paperwork. You and I might have different
definitions of adulthood. I don’t work for salary, I didn’t graduate from college,
but I don’t speak for others anymore, and I don’t regret anything I can’t genuinely
apologize for. And my mother is proud of me. I burned down a house of depression, I painted
over murals of greyscale, and it was hard to rewrite my life into one I wanted to live,
but today, I want to live. I didn’t salivate over sharp knives or envy the boy who tossed
himself off the Brooklyn bridge. I just cleaned my bathroom, did the laundry, called my brother.
Told him, “it was a good day.”

100 thoughts on “Button Poetry First Readings – Kait Rokowski – “A Good Day”

  1. Yes!! Today is one in a lengthening series of good days!! I still see my shadow. It is a good day.

  2. That was beautiful..a lot of the poems i see here especially the ones about women is wonderfully put…I can never deliver a poem like that but i enjoy watching more

  3. She lied. It wasn't bad. It might not be your best, but it wasn't bad.

  4. I have listened to many spoken word poems, but this is the one I keep coming back to. In a way, this is the one I can most relate to. Thank you for posting it.

  5. Any artist shoves aside the standards of society to feel raw, be raw, and stir something primal in us all. I envy those who can do that. Good start, Kait, I hope you develop this one further.

  6. I'm so glad I found this poem. I needed to hear this, I need to get out of my depression. I have too many bad days and that shouldn't be the way I live my life. Thank you for not over exaggerating depression, but telling the world to buck up and stop holding on to depression.

  7. this what goes on in women's head? ya'll agree with this? i might as well turn gay cuz this was stupid and i don't sympathize with that kind of anger it just looks like some stupid girl on her period getting mad at things that don't matter. i don't see this as artistic even.

  8. I watch this every morning to remind myself that I deserve to have "a good day".

  9. anyone who thinks this is a "bad poem" has never been depressed.

  10. Don't ever allow anyone to put any of your poems in the category of "One of her bad poems."
    You are inspiration embodied.

  11. Thank you for this poem.
    Today has been a bad day for me. Thank you for reminding me of the good ones 🙂

  12. "It is easy to forget that your bedroom is not the world." Never related to something so closely before. For years I've spent most of my days hiding in my room. One time in college I spent two weeks in my dorm room, I didn't leave for anything. I almost dropped out and went home. But finally someone helped me talk about what was going on. I think I needed to hear this poem, it helped me remember what matters, and I thank you for that Kait.

  13. I have to say that this poem is the best description of depression that I've ever heard. It seriously brought tears to my eyes because I've been there.

  14. its easier to stay in this abusive relationship than fix the problems it has created
    🙁

  15. Absolutely fantastic. I live for those good days. Such beautiful work. Kudos to the writer!

  16. "Depression is a good lover, so attentive." This quote spoke to mean so amazingly. Just well done.

  17. This is one of the most accurate and powerful descriptions of depression I've heard, no bs just the simple facts, I greatly appreciated this. thank you!!

  18. It's been ten years and I am still clawing my way out. I know these days and I treasure them, thank you.

  19. I don't know how many times I've listened to this poem, but I circle around to it every time I feel myself slipping into a spiral of sadness and don't want to feel alone and helpless. This is perhaps my favorite slam poem because of the way it resonates deeply with my own experiences. I am so glad it exists. 

  20. how dare she say any type of doubt in the beginning!! made me tear. absolutely wonderful

  21. Keep coming back to this. 

    "…the weeks where I forgot how to use my muscles…"
    "…I would stay as silent as a thick fog for weeks…"
    "…my head was a house of leaking faucets and burnt out lightbulbs"
    "…& it is easy to forget that your bedroom is not the world…"
    "…that the dark shadows your pain casts is not mood lighting"

    she gets it. 

    and my favorite, most powerful: 

    "I burnt down a house of depression. I painted over murals of greyscale." 

  22. "…my life was a gift that I wanted to return…" I hate the fact that I can relate to this so well.

  23. This is huge. Momentous for her. She perfectly encapsulates the sensation of pride and joy that overcomes one who overcomes themselves. Beautiful poem.

  24. I wish I could express my feelings like this, but wow! Job well done 🙂 (even though I hate that I can relate…)

  25. I found this poem on tumblr and fell in love with it but it was not credited to her, I'm so glad I found this performed by her! I love this poem

  26. "I didn't salivate over sharp knives, or envy the boy who tossed himself over the Brooklyn bridge" I love it (,:

  27. this is beautiful to the point of me crying because i am happy for her ! i am happy she over came it ! im happy she burnt down that house ! i am happy for her!

  28. In a small way we can all relate to putting stuff off and then its great sense of achievement when we do stuff we really don't want to do

  29. This poem is very powerful because you overcame depression, this poem can relate to thousands of people in the world, you decided to stand up for yourself and feel joy not sadness. This poem is very passionate and beautiful.

  30. I'm so so so so proud of her
    I just hope that one day I will be able to say that about myself

  31. i am not sure what i was expecting. but her definition of a good day is one i can relate to.

  32. I always come back to this poem, no matter how many spoken words I watch I always come back to this.

  33. loved it hope you don't mind I added this to my blog on mental health coping techniques
    http://www.agr0na.com there's a few poems maybe one day ill be confident enough to do a few of my own slams i love them 🙂

  34. Wholly fuck… I am creeped out.
    I just 'reposted' this poem to my mental health blog on Tumblr….
    Literally less than a week ago.

    If the Author is reading this: THANK YOU. FUCK THE SCORE CARDS

  35. this poem makes me wanna try harder thank you..I know I'm a mess but this poem made me feel proud of this woman too. it can be done. you reminded me and thank you for writing this poem

  36. This is one of my favourite poems, the line "My life was a gift I wanted to return" hit me hard.

  37. this is still by far my most favorite poem I have ever read and heard. I cry every time.
    I wish I knew her

  38. This has got to be my favorite poem. It's so simple, yet so meaningful.

  39. You and I might had different definitions of adulthood. That means more to me now that I've moved out from home, don't go to college, and live in my own apartment

  40. “It was hard to rewrite my life into one I wanted to live but today I want to live”

  41. When she says I called my brother told him it was a good day I loose it every time…forever my favorite

  42. Five years after I first heard this and it still wrenches my heart out of socket, just wow

  43. 5 years ago
    Yesterday, I spent 60 dollars on groceries,
    took the bus home,
    carried both bags with two good arms back to my studio apartment
    and cooked myself dinner.
    You and I may have different definitions of a good day.
    This week, I paid my rent and my credit card bill,
    worked 60 hours between my two jobs,
    only saw the sun on my cigarette breaks
    and slept like a rock.
    Flossed in the morning,
    locked my door,
    and remembered to buy eggs.
    My mother is proud of me.
    It is not the kind of pride she brags about at the golf course.
    She doesn’t combat topics like, ”My daughter got into Yale”
    with, ”Oh yeah, my daughter remembered to buy eggs”
    But she is proud.
    See, she remembers what came before this.
    The weeks where I forgot how to use my muscles,
    how I would stay as silent as a thick fog for weeks.
    She thought each phone call from an unknown number was the notice of my suicide.
    These were the bad days.
    My life was a gift that I wanted to return.
    My head was a house of leaking faucets and burnt-out lightbulbs.
    Depression, is a good lover.
    So attentive; has this innate way of making everything about you.
    And it is easy to forget that your bedroom is not the world,
    That the dark shadows your pain casts is not mood-lighting.
    It is easier to stay in this abusive relationship than fix the problems it has created.
    Today, I slept in until 10,
    cleaned every dish I own,
    fought with the bank,
    took care of paperwork.
    You and I might have different definitions of adulthood.
    I don’t work for salary, I didn’t graduate from college,
    but I don’t speak for others anymore,
    and I don’t regret anything I can’t genuinely apologize for.
    And my mother is proud of me.
    I burned down a house of depression,
    I painted over murals of greyscale,
    and it was hard to rewrite my life into one I wanted to live
    But today, I want to live.
    I didn’t salivate over sharp knives,
    or envy the boy who tossed himself off the Brooklyn bridge.
    I just cleaned my bathroom,
    did the laundry,
    called my brother.
    Told him, “it was a good day.”

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