National Slam Poet champion Porsha Olayiwola traveled from Boston, Massachusetts to perform her work at California State University, Stanislaus (Stan State), on Feb. 22.
This slam poet, who goes by the name Porsha O., already makes a statement at first glance. She stands tall, wearing a stylish, button down, short-sleeved shirt and glasses that can only be described as your grandfather’s, yet look fashionable on her.
Dr. Staci Scheiwiller, Art professor and the Feminist Club advisor, introduced Porsha, who received a warm applause from an audience in the Faculty Development Center which was so full that people stand in the back to listen.
Olayiwola did not pause when Scheiwiller introduced her, nor did she take a moment to greet the crowd. Rather, she began her performance.
Her voice filled the hall as she recited her first poem. The poem started off two syllables at a time, her strong voice pushing each word slowly and surely like rolling a ball made out of icy, stiff snow on the ground.
The time in between each syllable and each word gave the listener a moment to let her voice resonate within.
As it turns out, a ten-year-old Olayiwola had been told that her voice was something special when she began reciting speeches in competitions. Later, she reflects on her first speech recited—it was originally spoken by Hillary Clinton.
It was not until one of her high school teachers encouraged her to attend a slam poetry competition that her world was transformed into that of mixing her own words and her own voice, creating her found passion.
She recalled listening to the slam poetry for that first time and being compelled to write her own and add to what had moved her.
Olayiwola finished her first poem just as strongly as she started. The propulsion of her words and the momentum at which she was going had the audience transfixed.
She could have easily continued with that singular poem for the next two hours, but it stopped just as suddenly and forcefully as it began.
The thunderstruck audience applauded for her once again.
“Black, poet, dyke-goddess, hip-hop feminist, womanist, friend,” Olayiwola said while describing herself. “Porsha Olayiwola is a performance artist who believes in pixie dust and second chances…her intention is to speak, love, praise, and maintain a cypher that is undocumented, uncontrollable and just plain ole dope.”
From the given description, a clear picture of Olayiwola and the many backgrounds and principles she represents was painted.
The audience during her performance was filled with men and women of all ages and races.
High school students from the John H. Pitman High’s Slam Poet Society were centered in the crowd, eager to bask in an idol’s words.
Perhaps the most breath stopping poem she recited was when she told the callous history of black people and their inherent reluctance to steer clear of water.
This poem dated back to when they were shipped to America to become slaves, meeting with the horror that the tempestuous waters held. Not every piece was saturated with such deep-rooted pain, but every piece presented a new perspective on a familiar situation.
She recited a haiku where she announced that her superpower is invisibility and it ended with her being invisible—by squeezing her eyes shut.
Her current projects include turning classic Disney stories into twisted modern tales; one of which presents a present view of Princess Rapunzel being torn down from being prideful of her hair when a grocery store cashier reaches out and pets her hair as his own.
In between pieces, Porsha smiled largely and laughed with the audience. She knew that her words pack a punch. 
It is important that communities such as the Stan State Warrior population be aware of people like Porsha Olayiwola. She provides a sense of humor and deeper perspective for those of us still finding our own voice and path in this world.
I had the great opportunity of meeting her at the airport when she flew in the day before her Stan State performance, and then attended her writing workshop the next day.
She discussed writer’s block, which is something that every writer has experienced in their own way. She gave the advice that every writer needs to hear.
“Write every day and you’ll be left with something that can grow,” Olayiwola said. ”That, and write what you know.”
I had a few personal moments with Olayiwola over the course of the few days that she spent here in Turlock. As an aspiring performer myself, I had to ask if she has any specific meditations or procedures to go through before a performance.
Her answer was straightforward and left no room for confusion, much like the other words with which she graces the world.
“No, nothing special,” Olayiwola said. “I just make sure I poo beforehand.”
Guest Writer August Edwards is a senior at Pitman High School. She will be attending Pratt Institute next fall with a major in Creative Writing.