Sarah Kay is an American spoken word poet known for her heartfelt, conversational style and emotionally rich storytelling. Her poetry often explores themes of love, family, womanhood, vulnerability, and hope. She first gained international recognition with her TED Talk performance of “If I Should Have a Daughter,” where she blended gentle humor, wisdom, and personal experiences to show how poetry can connect people. Sarah’s poems are simple in language yet powerful in feeling. She uses everyday life—rain, city streets, childhood memories—to express deeper truths about strength, kindness, and healing.
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| Sarah Kay |
Her work is not only about beauty, but also about pain, fear, and resilience. Sarah often speaks about her relationship with her mother, growing up as a woman, and finding courage in broken moments. through her organization Project VOICE, she teaches poetry and performance to students around the world, encouraging them to use their own voices with confidence. Books like “No Matter the Wreckage” and “All Our Wild Wonder” capture her signature mix of softness and bravery. Sarah Kay’s poetry reminds us that storytelling is a form of love—and that even in difficult times, words can make us feel less alone.
In the House With No Doors
Sarah Kay
we have given up on knocking.
Incoming! we say, with our eyes lowered for modesty,
or, Hello! or sometimes, Sorry, sorry!
You have to pass through everyone’s bedroom
to get to the kitchen. We only have two bathrooms.
As a courtesy, nobody will poop while you are showering,
but they might have to do their makeup or shave
if they are in a rush, if we have somewhere to be,
so you can recognize every person by their whistle
through a wet shower curtain, you haven’t seen your own face
on an unfogged mirror in weeks. It doesn’t matter,
self-consciousness has no currency here.
If you were nosy, I suppose the little bathroom trashcans
would spill their secrets to you, but why bother,
privacy is a language we don’t speak.
Someone is always awake before you,
the smell of coffee easing you into a today
they have already entered,
a bridge you will never need to cross first,
and no matter how latenight your owl,
there is always someone still awake
to eat popcorn with, to whisper your daily report to,
to compare notes on what good news you each caught in your nets.
In bed, you say, Goodnight! in one direction
and someone says it back, then turns and passes it,
so you fall asleep to the echo of goodnights down the long hallway
’til it donuts its way back around to your pillow.
Someone is doing a load of laundry,
if anyone wants to add some extra socks?
Someone is clearing the dishes,
someone has started singing Gershwin in the backyard
and you can’t help but harmonize,
and for a moment what you always hoped was true
finally is: loneliness has forgotten your address,
french toast browning on the stovetop,
the sound of everyone you love
clear as the sun giggling through the window,
not even a doorknob between you.
B
by Sarah Kay
If I should have a daughter,
instead of Mom, she’s going to call me Point B.
Because that way she knows that no matter what happens,
at least she can always find her way to me.
And I’m going to paint the solar systems
on the backs of her hands,
so she has to learn the entire universe before she can say,
“Oh , I know that like the back of my hand.”
And she’s going to learn that this life will hit you
hard
in the face;
wait for you to get back up,
just so it can kick you in the stomach,
but getting the wind knocked out of you is the only way
to remind your lungs how much they like the taste of air.
There is hurt here
that cannot be fixed
by Band-Aids or poetry.
So the first time she realizes that Wonder Woman
isn’t coming, I’ll make sure she knows
she doesn’t have to wear the cape all by herself.
Because no matter how wide you stretch your fingers
your hands will always be too small
to catch all the pain you want to heal.
Believe me, I’ve tried.
And Baby, I’ll tell her, don’t keep your nose
up in the air like that, I know that trick;
I’ve done it a million times.
You’re just smelling for smoke
so you can follow the trail
back to a burning house,
so you can find the boy
who lost everything in the fire
to aww if you can save him.
Or else –
find the boy
who lit the fire
in the first place,
to see if you
can change him.
But I know she will anyway.
So instead,
I’ll always keep an extra supply of
chocolate and rain boots nearby,
because there is no heartbreak that chocolate can’t fix.
Okay, there’s a few heartbreaks that chocolate can’t fix.
But that’s what the rain boots are for.
Because rain will wash away everything if you let it.
I want her to look at the world through
the underside of glass-bottom boat,
to look through a microscope at the galaxies that exist
on the pinpoint of a human mind,
because that’s the way my mom taught me-
That there’ll be days like this.
There’ll be days like this, my mama said.
When you open your hands to catch,
and wind up with only blisters and bruises;
when you step out of the phone booth and
try to fly, and the very people you want to
save are the ones standing on your cape;
when your boots will fill with rain,
and you’ll be up to your knees in
disappointment.
And those are the very days you have
all the more reason to say thank you.
Because there’s nothing more beautiful than the way
the ocean refuses to stop kissing the shoreline,
no matter how many times it’s swept away.
You will put the wind in win(d)some,
lose some.
You will put the star in starting over and over.
And no matter how many land mines erupt
in a minute, be sure your mind lands on
the beauty of this funny place called life.
And yes,
on a scale from one to over-trusting,
I am pretty damn naive.
But I want her to know that this world is made
out of sugar: it can crumble so easily, but don’t
be afraid to stick your tongue out and taste it.
Baby
I’ll tel her,
remember your mama is a worrier,
and your papa is a warrior, and you
are the girl with small hands and big eyes
who never stops asking for more.
Remember that good things come in three’s.
And so do bad things.
And always apologize when
you’ve done something wrong,
But don’t you ever apologize
for the way your eyes refuse
to stop shining; your voice is small,
but don’t ever stop singing.
And when they finally hand you heartache,
when they slip war and hatred under your door,
and offer you handouts on street-corners of
cynicism and defeat, you tell them that they
really ought to meet your mother.
The Type
Sarah Kay
If you grow up the type of woman men want to look at,
You can let them look at you.
But do not mistake eyes for hands or windows or mirrors.
Let them see what a woman looks like.
They may have not ever seen one before.
If you grow up the type of woman men want to touch,
You can let them touch you.
Sometimes, it is not you they are reaching for.
Sometimes it is a bottle, a door, a sandwich, a Pulitzer — another woman.
But their hands found you first.
Do not mistake yourself for a guardian or a muse or a promise or a victim or a snack.
You are a woman — skin and bones, veins and nerves, hair and sweat.
You are not made out of metaphors, not apologies, not excuses.
If you grow up the type of woman men want to hold,
You can let them hold you.
All day they practice keeping their bodies upright.
Even after all this evolving it still feels unnatural.
Still strains the muscles, hold firms the arms and spine.
Only some men will want to learn what it feels like to curl themselves into a question mark around you,
Admit they do not have the answers they thought they would by now.
Some men will want to hold you like the answer.
You are not the answer.
You are not the problem.
You are not the poem or the punch-line or the riddle or the joke.
Woman, if you grow up the type men want to love,
You can let them love you.
Being loved is not the same thing as loving.
When you fall in love, it is discovering the ocean after years of puddle jumping.
It is realizing you have hands.
It is reaching for the tightrope when the crowds have all gone home.
Do not spend time wondering if you are the type of women men will hurt.
If he leaves you with a car alarm heart, you learn to sing along.
It is hard to stop loving the ocean even after it has left you gasping — "salty."
So forgive yourself for the decisions you've made.
The ones you still call mistakes when you tuck them in at night and know this:
Know you are the type of woman who is searching for a place to call yours.
Let the statues crumble.
You have always been the place.
You are a woman who can build it yourself.
You are born to build.
If I Should Have a Daughter
Sarah Kay
If I should have a daughter, instead of Mom, she's gonna call me Point B,
because that way she knows that no matter what happens,
at least she can always find her way to me.
And I'm going to paint solar systems on the backs of her hands,
so she has to learn the entire universe before she can say,
"Oh, I know that like the back of my hand."
And she's going to learn that this life will hit you hard in the face,
wait for you to get back up just so it can kick you in the stomach.
But getting the wind knocked out of you is the only way to remind your lungs how much they like the taste of air.
There is hurt here that cannot be fixed by Band-Aids or poetry.
So the first time she realizes that Wonder Woman isn't coming,
I'll make sure she knows she doesn't have to wear the cape all by herself.
Because no matter how wide you stretch your fingers,
your hands will always be too small to catch all the pain you want to heal. Believe me, I've tried.
"And, baby," I'll tell her, "don't keep your nose up in the air like that.
I know that trick; I've done it a million times.
You're just smelling for smoke so you can follow the trail back to a burning house,
so you can find the boy who lost everything in the fire to see if you can save him.
Or else find the boy who lit the fire in the first place,
to see if you can change him."
But I know she will anyway, so instead I'll always keep an extra supply of chocolate and rain boots nearby,
because there is no heartbreak that chocolate can't fix.
Okay, there's a few heartbreaks that chocolate can't fix.
But that's what the rain boots are for.
Because rain will wash away everything, if you let it.
I want her to look at the world through the underside of a glass-bottom boat, to look through a microscope at the galaxies that exist on the pinpoint of a human mind, because that's the way my mom taught me.
That there'll be days like this.
There'll be days like this, my momma said.
When you open your hands to catch and wind up with only blisters and bruises;
when you step out of the phone booth and try to fly and the very people you want to save are the ones standing on your cape;
when your boots will fill with rain,
and you'll be up to your knees in disappointment.
And those are the very days you have all the more reason to say thank you.
Because there's nothing more beautiful than the way the ocean refuses to stop kissing the shoreline, no matter how many times it's sent away.
You will put the wind in winsome, lose some.
You will put the star in starting over, and over.
And no matter how many land mines erupt in a minute, be sure your mind lands on the beauty of this funny place called life.
And yes, on a scale from one to over-trusting, I am pretty **** naive.
But I want her to know that this world is made out of sugar.
It can crumble so easily,
but don't be afraid to stick your tongue out and taste it.
"Baby," I'll tell her, "remember, your momma is a worrier, and your poppa is a warrior, and you are the girl with small hands and big eyes who never stops asking for more."
Remember that good things come in threes and so do bad things.
And always apologize when you've done something wrong.
But don't you ever apologize for the way your eyes refuse to stop shining.
Your voice is small, but don't ever stop singing.
And when they finally hand you heartache,
when they slip war and hatred under your door and offer you handouts on street-corners of cynicism and defeat,
you tell them that they really ought to meet your mother.
