One of my favourite profiles I’ve done for the Scarborough Observer Magazine. Shouts out to my friend Alex Gator!

Here’s the online print:
http://torontoobserver.ca/2013/01/27/young-poet-gives-back-to-scarborough-community/

Here’s the actual magazine layout if you’re interested in checking it out! Support the Scarborough Magazine and myself! ;): http://www.torontoobserver.ca/digitalpaper/hp.html

And here’s the page with my profile!
http://www.torontoobserver.ca/digitalpaper/hp.html#/16

Just an update from a recent poetry trip I went to, the Louder Than A Bomb festival in Chicago this past March 6-10!

This past week, myself, along with 6 other youth and our coach were  honoured to be given the opportunity to represent Hamilton (Hamilton Youth Poetry Slam), and Canada’s first group of youth to take part in the international youth slam of Louder Than A Bomb 2013 in Chicago.
 
Competition wise? We competed at the #LTAB2013 International Grudge Match on Friday night against a bunch of American teams. Scored 2nd highest of the slam of the night, copped the first 10, and got interviewed by a Chicago Newspaper :) Pretty satisfied! HYPS came 3rd, but it was a great night regardless. Proud of my team, especially Justin McKenzie Cargill for going absolutely crazy on that stage.
 
This Louder Than A Bomb was an experience and a half. I’ve never been so inspired and never written so much in my life. We repped HYPS and Canada hard. I hope you liked our stuff, America. Going to miss Chicago, but Toronto calls. A part of my heart will stay in the Chi. Grateful for all the friends and networking made. Shouts out to our friends from Texas and Tulsa, and shouts out to the winners Kuumba Linxx for winning, and getting the chance to represent Chicago at Brave New Voices. See you again in August, Chicago when I bring Team Youth Toronto to compete at the international youth poetry festival of Brave New Voices!

Shouts out to my friend at Ryerson U again, and The Eyeopener Magazine, and my friend, Colleen and Stine! Did another profile for some friends, read if you want. :)

Here’s the link if you want to read!
http://theeyeopener.com/2013/03/from-heartbreak-letters-to-helping-youth/

*****

FROM HEARTBREAK LETTERS TO HELPING YOUTH
By Colleen Marasigan

While many things are easier said than done, 20-year-old Brian Millado seems to be an expert at both word and action.

The Ryerson student is using his passion for spoken word, a creative process he finds freeing, to help other youth express their pain through poetry.

He began exploring his interest in spoken word at age 16. After seeing his first performance, he admits he wasn’t mentally or emotionally prepared for it. That’s why he decided to give it a try.

“Looking back at my first performance, it’s so embarrassing. I’m a really “jump in and do it” type of person, so I did it at the Toronto Poetry Slam four years ago,” Millado says. “I thought I was so good. Looking back, I just looked like an emotional idiot yelling a heartbreak letter on stage. But it was a learning process.”

In his poems, he typically expresses views on heartbreak, success, and the views of males, and personally shares these messages with his audience.

“I treat poetry as my vent: my method of exhausting every negative emotion out of me,” he says. “The intention is to feel liberated after each performance.”

One message he hopes to share with the youth of Toronto is to feel liberated and express oneself.

Millado is a member of Uniffect, an organization located in Toronto, that aims to help youth in “at-risk” schools express themselves through the use of spoken word. Uniffect holds biweekly workshops and meetings. The organization aims to help network and connect with currently 20-plus members, through writing and performance-based activities.

“It brings us all together to share our works,” says Millado. “It’s kind of hard when no one is listening to you in this big world.”

Since then, the Ryerson student has also participated in many other collaborations and organizations, co-founding a collective of spoken word artists: The Messengers.

Made up originally of the top five spoken word artists from the Toronto Youth Poetry Slam Team, the collective has grown to eleven with a twelfth member to be added soon. The team, who in 2011 were the first Canadian team to present at the Brave New Voices spoken word festival in California, aim to inspire through art.

“We want to offer other [eager] youth poets opportunities while inspiring them,” he says. “[We want to] expand and network all [eager] and talented youth poets across North America, and show them that you can do so much with your art.”

“Spoken word is, I’d say, the most accessible art form. You don’t need anything else. Just a brain and possibly a pencil or pen. Or in this age, a smartphone. I keep most of my poems on there.”

For Millado, his smartphone is his notebook of poems, but also his calendar for keeping up-to-date on his busy schedule.

As a full-time university student, in a formula made up of time management and little free time, if you don’t find Millado doing spoken word, you’ll find him at the gym memorizing his poems, checking e-mails, promoting events, writing, doing readings on the bus, or constantly networking.

However, despite his hectic schedule, Millado hopes that his major in English and passion for spoken word will actually help him in the future.

“My main intention is to inspire and mentor youth. If I can find a career like that, that would be ideal. And with my major and minor, I wanted to pursue higher education and ultimately become a university professor teaching English. Who knows! Maybe even teaching spoken word.”

“If someone can benefit from what I have and it’s convenient and free to do so, and I enjoy what I do, why not help out?”

Shouts out to my close friend, Diana Duong, from my university (Ryerson U) for the fun online profile! Check out what I do here.

If anyone’s interested, it’s featured on the RU Student Life website! http://studentlife.ryerson.ca/profile/brian-millado-the-messenger/

*****

Brian Millado: the Messenger
By: Diana Duong

What comes to mind when you think of a poetry slam? Is it anything along the lines of a solemn crowd, all clad in black turtlenecks and berets, quietly snapping, while someone on stage recites, “Cat… darkness… pain” to the rhythm of bongos. Now, imagine the opposite. Passionate, energetic, full of soul, and echoing yells. This is the style of most of Brian Millado’s spoken word performances. This second-year English student is part of one of Toronto’s fast-expanding cultures

How are you involved in the spoken word community?

I’m sort of leading an after-school program called UNIFFECT for youth in “at-risk areas.” They’re really just normal kids, but because it’s Scarborough, it’s “at-risk area.” We have biweekly writing workshops.

I’m also part of a group is called the Messengers, we’re a compilation of 11 Toronto youth poets, we’re like the Justice League of spoken word, kind of nerdy. I like to think we’re pretty good. One guy on our team was one of the highest-scoring poets of the Canadian Festival of Spoken Word team, at 21.

Every so often, we’ll be asked to talk at a school. We’re youth and we love to teach youth. Do what you love, get paid, and teach? That’s three things I would love to have.

What makes you want to teach others as well?

I know it sounds lame, but growing up on movies like Coach Carter, Freedom Writer, I would love to be Hilary Swank… Brian Swank… Hillary Millado. I’d love to get a job at an at risk area as a high school teacher.

What advice do you have for youth who are looking to get into poetry but don’t know where to start?

Dive right in. To be honest, there is no easy way of gradually easing yourself in the poetry scene. Come out to shows a lot. Don’t stop writing, that’s the two biggest pieces of advice. Because when you stop writing, you can’t improve.

The image of a poetry slam, with snooty artistic elite people… does it hold truth?

No! The great thing about the poetry community is it’s so loving. Honest. Unless you’re up there yelling ‘hail Satan!’ No one’s going to boo you, it’s a very accepting community. We have this thing where memorization is bad, it’s difficult, we understand, sometimes people are going to choke during their poems, even the competitors will be there like, ‘come on, you can finish this!’ It’s all about getting over your self nerves because everyone’s going to accept you.

It’s so energetic, I get so into it, banging on tables. If someone says something that hits you, you have to react.

What do you mean, if something hits you?

For example, a piece I wrote a couple years ago was about the gym. When I first started going to the gym, I didn’t know what I was doing. I felt kind of awkward there, watching people, and I didn’t want to ask, ‘hey, is this how you use the machine?’ The more so, out-of-shape people in the audience, and even this big muscular guy, came up to me afterwards and he’s like, ‘wow. When I first started going to the gym, I felt exactly like that.’ It’s when you make that connection to someone’s piece. Poetry gives people a voice who maybe aren’t ready to have their voice out there, we offer them a voice.

Is poetry different from music?

It’s not. If I could do music, I’d do that! I’m just not that talented–ha ha. No, Everybody finds their vice, you know? People use music to express themselves, people use basketball to express themselves. I come up with my ideas in the moment, while I’m on the go a lot. If i have a metaphor, I’ll write it down. I have a compendium of metaphor lines in the notes section on my phone.

What’s one of your best metaphors?

It was a heartbreak poem. It’s about a storm, and I equate the storm to fights in the relationship and the line goes: ‘In a sea of broken ships, of relations and friends.’ Get it? It’s a ship, but relationships! That’s a kneeslapper.

Is there a spoken word community at Ryerson?

I’m in talks with opening up a UNITY division here at Ryerson next year. I know there’s definitely a strong dance presence, so that’s covered.

Has studying English at Ryerson helped you with your poetry?

This takes nothing away from English, because as a separate entity, the English program here is great. But I think it’s ruining my poetry. It might not be a bad thing, because I’m turning my poems into essays, trying to figure out, if I show people it’s conflicting with the style I write with, but that’s not a bad thing either, broadening my ability, I’d say.

—

Some of Brian’s most recent performances were at the Roots Lounge Open Mic and Poetry Slam on Sunday Feb 17, he was one of 16 finalists at the Last Poet Standing Poetry Slam on Sunday Feb 24.

An edit on a recent piece. A different message… I found this piece more darker and introspective as the other piece, but I’m keeping this one. I hope you like this one.

8 Things I Have Learned At The Gym

By: Brian Millado

This poem is called 8 things I have learned at the gym.

8. The main objective is to appear strong. I haven’t felt that way in a while – I have a hole to fill. Ever since I told you that I play basketball: you told me I was good… just not as good as him.  

7. No one really goes to the gym just to get healthy! When I walk in, my heart pounds heavy like pounds on the plates, but it pounds faster with each disproportionate pound I try to push in comparison to compensate.

6. Never laugh at the skinny man at the gym. Never downplay the downswing of a failed rep, and never claim that his squat won’t amount to squat. Because he is pushing… the largest proportionate weight in venue: himself. So while you idly watch from below, realize that every snowball effect can turn into an avalanche with enough momentum. So watch him fall – it’s all part of the plan.

5. Cosmo states that cardio exercises will prepare your heart for the intensive rates you will most likely experience while being dumped for the first time because you were not physically beautiful enough for this superficial partner.

…And you know, cosmo is never wrong. 

4. Gym etiquette: whether it is the two-piece work out outfit from the blonde on the bicycle, or the ass-crack exposed from the bench-pressing gorilla: It is never appropriate to stare… for a long time.

3. Stares. I lose my breath faster than the day that I met you. But now my weak legs give weight to my heavy heart, the machines are watching me – haunting me – stopping me – the stares from the stair master now act as a stare master, stop taunting me. It’s like these mirrors are placed these gyms so that we may see how much are lives suck compared to others.

But no, I’m not tryna be immature about it, I just saying I’m insecure about. So I can take when my boys tell me that I’m lanky and I’m underweight, but from my family and loved ones, that is something that I fucking hate.

2. When you left… it left a huge hole. And I thought that I could fill it with muscle and protein.

When you left… it hurt - kinda like lifting these plates that read pain and insecurity, and a bar that read expectations set so high that I could never reach actually reach it no matter how hard I tried. And I tried! So whether you got xylophone ribs, a beer keg belly, a statue-like body, or no matter how you look like!… 

The pain always feels the same. And alone always feels the empty. No matter how much cardio I seem to do… I still can’t run from myself.

1. The main objective is to appear strong.

But I want be strong. Somehow. An inwards quality contorted by the structures of exposed ribs and insecure guts and unacceptable biceps. Maybe this is why I never fit in.

And I went to the gym other day.

And I was more out of shape upon leaving.

Wrote this for a creative writing course. We had to describe something not in a typical way. So I described my backpack - and how it was more then a bag.

Backpacking

By: Brian Millado

As I waited for my school bus, I remembered my mother’s broken English; telling me that when I grow up, some things will changes and others will stay the same.

That day, my backpack held immigrant dreams complete with the multiracial Roseart crayon pack.

We couldn’t afford Crayola.

With each passing child day, the embarrassed cultural brown-bagged lunches slept underneath the Canadian history worksheets.

Never forget home.

My mother is the foundation to my earth.

And my backpack held the Canadian dream.

So I carry these textbooks like the weight of the world was on my shoulders.

The uplift of my mothers pride along with the bag straps allowed me to never buckle under pressure.  

My backpack is a reflection of my mother.

So with each piece, the pen uncloaked from the outer compartment, brandishing scars of my past shame of the third world but still willing to bleed the optimism of a young Filipino woman, signaturing these immigrant papers and assignments with the phrase:
“Never forget home.”

As I release my English prose poetry worksheet from my backpack,

The empty space within echoes the immigrant dreams of my mother.

“Some things change – others, stay they same.”

Just a photo from today’s photoshoot! Credits to Alex Gater. I’m going to have the honour of being on the cover of the Scarborough Observer Magazine. :3

“I wrote this with 2 things in mind: burgers and double meanings.”

Fast Food
By: Brian Millado

Fast Food.
As I creepily admired her eating the combo 1 meal at McDonald’s,
I was mesmerized to present her with a big mac.
Initially, she claimed my tactics were daily deals,
And she was interested in food for thought.
Letting my mind ketchup, I mustard the strength to regroup, then relished at the opportunity she presented me.
I surely was in a pickle, left in a chili state, as she currently viewed me as a cold’slaw.
That’s something I couldn’t swallow.
I’d hate to believe that there was beef between us,
But the extended, heated look and the grill she shot my way made me feel like I was being burned.
I told her that she could have it her way,
All I ask is that she play the Dairy Queen to this Burger King.
Her mood changed as she proclaim, “I’m lovin it!”
Now my heart fries under the heat of discussion.
Perhaps it was now all gravy for this po’ teen.
She laughed, so she lettuce continue.
She told me I was not like the past 5 guys.
I was more of a hot dog.
To my ego, this was able to Super Size Me.
I assumed it was cake from here.
But I remain chicken like KFC, but her pressure dropped me to my toonies, Tuesday
Is when we would ride the subway to eat fresh.
Or so I’d hope.
Or perhaps I could drive thru, request of her, and off my change at the first window of opportunity.
Then we could ride off to a white castle where I’d present ring, onions were not the reasons for these tears of happiness.
But for now, I eat my words.
Remain seated in the far corners of this McDonald’s establishment.
Cheesed and bacon from how me being this junior chicken allowed for missed opportunities.
I finally understood the concept of fast food.
Fast.

“I revised this poem as I thought it was one of my strongest pieces. Manly because it means so much to me. I hope you like it.”

The Day My Words Meant Nothing
By: Brian Millado

My best friend used to tell me that: “Every little thing, is gonna be alright.”
And that God sends each and every one of us guardian angels to protect us from losing hope.
But on August 12, I wasn’t too sure of either.
This was the day that I was at a loss for words.
Because what do you tell your best friend who just got raped?
“I’m sorry”?
But I’m sorry for what?
“I can only picture what you’re going through”?!
But picture this:
Even the visions of da Vinci with the mind of Michaelangelo,
Mirrors of murder in portraits by Picasso,
Or perhaps pictures painted in watercolours by Warhol,
But you see,
the problem with trying to picture this
is no matter how hard I try,
I won’t even come close to understanding your pain.
Like fresh paint drips on the picture of you,
Even the portrait cries.
This teenage rape is like a bloodbath drawn in red Crayola.
So I scream:
“Where was my angel to protect her?”
And you could hear this stutter in her body language while trying to reassure me that every little thing is still gonna be alright.
Somehow.
She was hopeful, but she was broken.
I was broken.
And no, I’m not trying to get sympathy,
But what I’m trying to say is that,
When she hurts, we all hurt.
Not as friends and family, but as people, we all hurt.
So like Anthony Griffith on the moth,
I hear that same voice inside my head,
that same Denzel voice from Training Day:
“MAN UP, BRIAN!
You think you’re the only one hurting?!”
So
I
PUSH!
…But I’m more confused than angry,
Because some people still misuse this trust as consent,
And no, I’m not saying I have everything down to a science.
I’m not saying I have what it takes to fix it,
I’m not saying that I have all the answers.
I’m not saying that I’m perfect!
…
I’m just saying when it happened; I lost of part of my best friend that night.
And I lost hope and wondered if guardian angels ever existed…
But I remembered what she told me: “Every little thing, is gonna be alright.”
An angel.
She was sent to protect us.
Not from the bad people.
But from losing hope.
But God shed a tear when we took advantage of her.
It rained that day.
Wrapped in bows, she truly was a gift from above.
But that never consent to unravel her.
But she still believes that, “Every little thing, is gonna be alright.”
Confused, I asked my best friend why there was still so much love in her blood?
She told me it was to offset the blood in her love. 
My guardian angel told me that.
The world needs more love.
And it starts with words.
It starts with hope.
And it starts
with you.

just random thoughts

Sometimes I want to disappear
I want to buy a greyhound ticket to buttshits no where

I wanna see who would notice
Who would care

I always wanted to know what people would say at my funeral
Who would say it

What impact have I made

I wanna make a impact so big that people from the future will theorize that a certain something made this… creating a new era.

A big bang. 

I don’t want wanna be a poet who changes lives.

I wanna be a life changer who writes poems. 

So until I hop on that bus to else where. 

I gotta make some identity first.