At 21, Mecca Verdell is at the forefront of Baltimore’s thriving slam poetry scene. Is it too far too fast? Hands clasped, Mecca Verdell paces slowly under the park’s fluorescent street lights. Night has fallen in Baltimore. Firm and commanding, she launches — from zero to 60 — into the combative opening lines of “Petty,” a poem that unpacks her complicated relationship with her father. Eyes wide, her voice drips with sarcasm as notes of frustration creep into her tone, anger radiating from her like heat waves. “It don’t matter what I say to hurt him,” she says. “The only person who’s roasting is me.” Before you know it, she shifts and her pace quickens; Verdell’s voice cracks as she reveals why their relationship is so rocky. Suddenly she is gasping, spitting words out almost in a crescendo. Her anger gives way to raw vulnerability as she pours out verses with urgency — like the words must escape from her body. The performance might feel like a roller coaster for listeners, but Verdell is in control: Her rises and falls are timed with precision. | 
