About Me

My name is Aman (pronounced uh-mun). I am an Indian-American poet from Artesia, CA. As the child of immigrants, I am untraditional in my approach. If there’s a rule, I break it. If there’s a boundary, I push. If there’s a pen or a microphone in front of me, I am my most powerful and unapologetic self. I graduated from UCLA in 2014 with a degree in Creative Writing, and have since immersed myself into written and performance poetry, competing in venues and slams across the country. 

I am a National Poetry Slam finalist, a member of the 2016 & 2017 Hollywood (DPL) Slam Team, and a teaching artist in Los Angeles and Long Beach county. My writing is heavily tied to my work as an educator, activist, and intersectional feminist, pushing the envelope in my dissection of personal and political identity. My work has been featured on All Def Poetry, The Huffington Post, Vibe, and Button Poetry. If you are interested in booking me for a performance or workshop, please fill out the booking form and I will be in touch!

- Aman K. Batra

The Latest

WINTER WAS TRASH. THROW THE WHOLE SEASON AWAY 🐺#summeriscoming 🌞🌞🌞
The list of fuck yous here is so long. Fuck the heartbeat bill. Fuck the most recent abortion bill in Alabama. Fuck every legislator responsible. 7 states have limited procedure this year alone, directly challenging Roe v. Wade. To share some facts– only white male Alabama congressmen voted to pass the most restrictive abortion ban in the country. It was then signed by Kay Ivey, a white woman. It outlaws abortions at 6 weeks, with no exception to rape and incest. This is truly sickening. It is also just the beginning. The Missouri House is voting for or against their abortion bill tomorrow, and state reps will likely approve the measure. 11 states (total) are moving through regulation. This is not simply “blowing over.” It is NOT a time to remain silent. It’s time to speak out, and seek information. It’s ok to start small. Start with yourself. Know that any policy that threatens the right to choose is an exertion of patriarchy. Protect yourself. Be on the humane side of this the fight. The choice belongs to the person with the uterus. No one else. Pls note, I am NOT here for any hateful, argumentative comments. You will be blocked/deleted. I AM here for those who are hurting. Those who are scared. I am here for your hearts, your wombs; I am here for our resilience and perseverance, always. 🌻
me, trying to outsmart a prompt 🙇🏽‍♀️ . . . more free-write on my story #poetry
My mama is light-filled and buttery brown and YES she ages flawlessly. Everything I am is because of her. #happymothersday ♥️
Sent this perfect epigraph to Mom this morning. To how far we’ve come in our relationship. To our brilliant repair. To our whole selves, bringing each other twice as much of love and everything. From The Tradition by @jerichobrown1 🌺
Set these goals for myself exactly a month ago. SO FAR SO GOOD. I mean, I gotta put the bread in the freezer soon but non-reciprocal relationships??? never heard of it 🤷🏽‍♀️
I would put my photo first, but their love is more important. I’m a good third wheel; they’re an excellent wing couple. I play Drake off my phone in the subway station, they encourage my romance with Jon Snow at a GOT bar. They make room for me under tiny umbrellas. I make room for better examples of love. When we’re not in Chicago getting drunk off spiked seltzer water, we’re living in an apartment together with dead flowers and an ever growing amazon cart. The love here is precious, and my singledom is looking especially tall. Celebrate it with me, pretty white flowers n all!!!
Meet my one and only. I’ve been too depressed to care about a consistent feed. I’m in Chicago, thinking about how my dog has gotten me through everything. I have an “aesthetic” and it’s not necessarily a “post ur dog whenever u want” aesthetic, so it is wrong. I have a wrong aesthetic that doesn’t make room for my sweet pumpkin patch of a chiweenie. I am changing, drastically, and for the better. Saturday morning, I walked through the door and wiped the tears off of Coco’s furry little face. I said, “why are you crying bubba?” and he blinked twice. That means allergies. What am I doing here, really? I hate Instagram. I like it sometimes but I hate it a lot more than I like it lately. It’s just not the spot when you have nameless demons. Well, one of them is Existential Millennial Angst so we can go with Ema. The rest can be named after GOT characters for funsies. When I check my apps in the morning, it goes: messages, email, twitter. Twitter informs and induces laughters all at once. Email reminds me that I have a career. Dope. I take (some unnecessary) pride in knowing that if this app were to crash, I’d still make all my money. I’ve made myself invisible, pretty much everywhere, except for a stage. Those 50 minutes are mine. Ours, if you’re in the room to share light with me. I wake, most frequently, to messages from mom checking in on me. Then there are the friendship threads that I will never delete and GOT group chats I might have to bc I am running out of storage space. There are messages from men whose numbers I have yet to save, a disappearing boy I’ve cried too many tears over, and oh Coco knows this. There are organizers asking for forms and “is there anything else you need?” There is my mother, again and again, and y’all, I am lucky for the people in my life. I am lucky for Coco and his golden fur all over my clothes. I am lucky for Instagram too. It can be a beautiful platform when you’re ready to grow. I don’t know how I got so deep into this, the depression, and the caption too. It’s all coming to a close. Maybe I should have left it at “my one and only.” That was the intent– that I love my fucking dog and he hates all the boys who have hurt me.
Manspreading looks better on me
On this here #worldpoetryday, I’m reflecting on what it means to be a “working woman.” I’m thinking about the different forms of “work” that are often overlooked or unseen. To work is to function, despite everything telling you not to. Work is in the body, the heart, the page. To work is to labor. To commit. To work is to accept your condition and pour into it. To wake up every morning and collect yourself, get ready, affirm your place, is to put in work before the work even begins. To be a prime source of love, the love you give others and the love you give yourself, is to make all this work look easy. Come celebrate with me that everyday / something has tried to kill me / and has failed” — Lucille Clifton, heavily inspiring this work. #poetry #womenshistorymonth
I’ve been processing this for days. Hours at the philly airport reading articles and scrolling through tweets. Struggling to find words. Today, I came across a sketch I drew of my grandfather in January, during the week of his passing. He was born in Lahore, Pakistan. He was an educator. Above all, he was compassionate and his heart would be with the Muslim community if he were here today. I’m not much of drawer, but I figured I’d add to this journal doodle. I am working towards some kind of healing. To all those affected by the Christchurch mosque shootings, I am sending healing your way. I was finally able to find some more words, too. Swipe left to read. . . . . . . #christchurch #newzealandshooting #xenophobia #islamophobia #endwhitesupremacy #sikh
I took to Twitter to display my outrage. Everyone’s back on IG like nothing happened and I am here to tell you that my girl Mercury is still plotting. The retrograde is March 5-28*

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Chapbooks

 
Combo Pack
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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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