About

Aman K. Batra is a nationally touring, Indian-American poet from Artesia, CA. She graduated from UCLA with a degree in Creative Writing, and has since built her career in written and performance poetry. She is a National Poetry Slam finalist, a member of the 2016 and 2017 Hollywood Slam Team, and a teaching artist in Los Angeles and Long Beach county. Aman’s poetry is heavily tied to her work as an educator, activist, and intersectional feminist. Aman’s work has been featured on All Def Poetry, Button Poetry, Vibe, BeSe, and The Huffington Post. She has been published in The Los Angeles Press, LA County Arts Commission, and Fight Evil With Poetry Anthology.

Aman is currently signed to Neon Entertainment talent agency, and is booking for Fall 2019-2020, and Spring 2020 schedule. To bring her out for show at your college or university, please fill out the booking form tab, or contact her management, pavdoagent@gmail.com.

The Latest

a writer’s guide to avoiding texts and tan lines
pls enjoy this very emotional, teeny tiny writing. the page version of “you don’t love me anywhere”
The only D for me #vitamin ➖ 📷: @mansha__
she’s home. she’s darling. she’s whole without your help.
I got 99 problems and they’re allll..
I chose love, and love didn’t choose me back. This bell hooks classic became a life raft. It has now cradled me through two heartbreaks, one in 2014, and the other just recently. In my first read, I came to understand why love and abuse can’t coexist, and all the ways capitalism and patriarchy directly oppose a love ethic. My return to this book has been different. Some of my fave excerpts are in my story if you’re interested. My takeaway has less to do with breaking free, and more to do with accepting where I am. This read offered perspective, relief, and appreciation for all the redemptive love in my life. It was a testament to the fact that I am doing something right. That there is no shame in choosing love, even when love doesn’t choose me. #bellhooks #allaboutlove
I wrote this in 2015, during my first visit to India. I want to start by saying, this isn’t a poem. It’s a quote. Maybe a poetic thought. Perhaps I could revise further, and it’ll be a line in a poem one day. Regardless, it is mine. It is a reflection of my spirit and my surroundings at the time. My trip to India was one of the most transformational experiences of my life. This summer, I am undergoing a different transformation, but I am still reminded of my heart years ago, how stubborn and fragile it was. How immature, even. I am critical of my younger work. I’ve archived most of it. Even this small island underwent revision, several words cut and reordered, before reposting. I am realizing that what I considered a “wise thought” 3 and a half years ago is now a marker of how much I’ve matured. I am learning that there is still power in sharing who I’ve been. As a committed storyteller, I worry that folks will think that these bite size quotes are the full story. The poems I admire most are laborious They require more time and refinement. This isn’t what I’d publish in a book, but Instagram isn’t a book, now is it? This work is worthy. It is for Instagram, and maybe nothing else. That doesn’t make it lesser work; it just makes it more accessible. I love the community I’ve garnered, and want to keep showing up. I may have a different relationship with this language now, but I still honor the light it offered me when I was 23. I know it has much to offer others, too. Today, I am choosing to reveal my process, rather than be ashamed of it. I spent 2 months in India, in different parts of Punjab, Mumbai, Delhi, Rajasthan, Amritsar, Agra. I have carried each place with me, each image, a keepsake. A snake charmer on the side of the road. A patch of yellow flowers amidst green. A golden haven, a door to the Guru. I am not who I have been; I am where I have been. Each destination leading up to now— a space where I am undoubtably louder, where the growth is silent, until it’s not. . . . . . #quote #growth #india #writersofindia #poetsofindia #womenwhowrite #woc #wocwriters #browngirlblogger #poet
I used a colonizing tool on my hair the other day
This little piece was born from the aftermath of a small argument. I was hyper anxious, sitting in a coffee shop eating a Thai chicken panini. It forreal had too many peanuts in it so I figured, why not start at the wtf of peanuts in a sandwich and go from there. I don’t know what else to say, except for I am no longer the girl in the poem anymore. I was too apologetic. Too willing to compromise at the cost of my own comfort. I was too easily manipulated into thinking I must be the problem. Turns out, I did love the subject of this poem. He never joined me at the table, but my table is full. It is full of friendship, and good love, and forgiveness for myself first. . . . #poetry #writer #anxiety #mentalhealth #woc #writersofcolor #womenwhowrite
When God made me he was like “let’s give her a lot of insecurities as a kid but be real generous with the glow up.” Well played, God. Well played. ➖ 📸: @mansha__
Story time: Last Saturday, I caught the flu and womp. Overnight, I was sick. I did the reasonable thing and took all of Sunday to rest. I ordered some tasty vegan ramen, took medicine, vitamin C, all that. By night time, I was like, you did it! YOU’RE CURED. You rested for A WHOLE DAY. Monday comes along and I’m like, “flu who!? I got shit to do.” I ignore still present symptoms, start tackling my to do list, and end up staying out for 12 hours. When I wake up Tuesday morning, Flu comes in like, “HA u thought bitch. It’s takes more than 24 hours to get rid of ME. Now you’re worse!!!” The rest of the week was a constant battle between pushing myself to be productive and offering the grace necessary to heal. It is now Friday, and I am still sick. My sense of self worth is so dependent on my productivity that I can’t even let myself recover from a damn flu. This is a reminder to myself and anyone who feels like inactivity is shameful, prioritizing work ethic over health is some capitalistic shit. It asks that we work like machines, when we are vulnerable humans. It makes it so that our survival is dependent on 9-5’s, constant goal attainting, money making, etc. If we are not ACTIVE, we are failing. We are weak. This is a fallacy. Capitalism ignores the survival of the body and the mind. It leaves little room for vulnerability. If you can help it, resist. Resist by taking time for YOURSELF as an act of love. This shit shouldn’t be a luxury, but alas it is, bc capitalism is the root of all evil thank u for reading my long ass caption now run on sentence have a restful weekend good day 💕💕💕

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Chapbooks

 
Combo Pack
sold out
Combo Pack
15.00

In my debut collection of poetry, I explore themes of love, identity, and culture. Both of these books go hand in hand (pun intended), and serve as reflections of my healing through the written word.

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Stolen Thing
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Stolen Thing
10.00

The telling of my hyphenated identity. Each poem highlights ways in which white supremacy, anti-blackness, or xenophobia present themselves in simple forms — a concert, a 4th of July celebration, conversations with my mother, and more.

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Dripping Love
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Dripping Love
10.00

Dripping Love is the continual exploration of a romantic relationship, documenting the unfolding the ways in which I rise and fall in love. This is some of my rawest and most vulnerable work, it has never been shared on social media before.

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