
SocioPoetix began as an idea in 2013 — though, in many ways, it started long before that.
I remember walking out of a poetry reading at MiraCosta College, energized. Something powerful was happening in North County San Diego. Under the leadership of Dr. Bruce Hoskins, spoken word poetry was not just being performed — it was being brought into the classroom. Students were writing urgent, powerful work. Community poets were stepping onto campus. Art and lived experience were meeting academic inquiry in the same room, and it was working. Poetry was becoming a bridge — connecting students to real-world issues, to each other, and to themselves. I left that space asking one question: how do we take this further?
At the same time, I was beginning my graduate studies, wrestling with questions that have never really left me: what is the value of art, and how do we make art matter? I came into sociology, in many ways, to become a better poet. As a student, I often felt like I learned as much at open mics as I did in the classroom. In those spaces, people were naming their realities and connecting personal struggles to larger social forces — doing what we call the sociological imagination in real time. Poets were doing theory. They were producing knowledge. That realization shifted everything for me.
I was also thinking about Def Poetry Jam, and watching spoken word begin to live online. YouTube was becoming an archive. Poems that once existed only in rooms were now accessible, shareable, and teachable. As a new instructor, I started bringing those poems into my classes — and then something clicked. Introductory sociology is organized by concepts: identity, race, inequality, power. Those same concepts were already alive in poetry. What if students could find poems based on what they were learning? That question became SocioPoetix.
The idea was simple but ambitious: create a space where poetry could be organized and explored through a sociological lens. But almost immediately, a tension emerged. Poetry is not meant to be coded like data — it is meant to be felt, experienced, and lived. How do you organize emotion without reducing it?
That tension shaped everything. With the help of Rajiv Rabello, I began building a system that could hold both structure and spirit — something searchable, but still human. Something that allowed people to find poems without stripping them of their depth. That balance became the foundation of SocioPoetix, and it remains central to the project today.

It has been a privilege to be part of spoken word and slam poetry communities — to witness brilliance up close and to learn from some of the most powerful voices in the world. It has been equally meaningful to be a fan, to observe, and to listen. SocioPoetix lives in that space between participation and reflection. It is shaped by community, but also by careful attention — by the act of documenting something that is often fleeting. In many ways, this archive is a record of that experience.
More than a decade later, SocioPoetix has grown alongside spoken word itself. Poetry has expanded into classrooms, research, film, and digital platforms, reaching new audiences and gaining new forms of recognition. And still, in many ways, spoken word remains misunderstood — reduced, simplified, or overlooked. The depth is there. The theory is there. The knowledge is there. SocioPoetix exists, in part, to insist on that — to take poetry seriously and to recognize it as a form of knowledge, inquiry, and resistance.
This work has always been about access. Not every student has an open mic. Not every community has a poetry space. SocioPoetix helps bridge that gap — bringing poetry into classrooms and within reach. It is also about validation: affirming that this work matters, and that poetry is a legitimate way of knowing and understanding the world.
There is still more to explore, more to document, and more to understand. If SocioPoetix does anything, I hope it honors the art, respects the artist, and expands access to those who have not yet encountered the power of this form. Poetry is not separate from the world — it is one of the ways we come to know it.
A Note on Technology
The current version of SocioPoetix is made possible in part by advances in technology, which support how the archive is organized, maintained, and accessed. But technology does not define the work — poetry does. SocioPoetix does not use technology to interpret or rewrite poems, and we are intentional about protecting each poet's voice and ownership. We do not publish auto-generated transcripts, and we take care not to misrepresent or reduce the work in the process of organizing it. Technology supports the structure. The meaning — and the power — always belongs to the poet.
SocioPoetix is not an individual project — it is the result of community, conversation, and collective support over more than a decade.
I am deeply grateful to Rajiv Rabello, whose vision and expertise in website design helped bring the earliest version of this idea to life and continues to shape its foundation. I want to thank Denise Nealon and TJ Love for their work, encouragement, and research, which helped push this project forward in meaningful ways. In its earliest stages, this idea was shaped through conversation. I am thankful to Karla Cordero, Jason Perez, Gabby Kalenyi, and Joe Limer for creating space to think out loud, to question, and to refine what SocioPoetix could become. To my brothers and sisters in Collective Purpose — thank you for the community, the grounding, and the shared commitment to art and impact. And to my doctoral advisors — Sharon Elise, David Luis-Brown, Eve Oishi, Matthew Delmont, and Joshua Goode— thank you for your guidance, your scholarship, and for expanding the ways I understand knowledge, theory, and possibility.