Have you ever left a room buzzing so hard you had to scream into the night just to let the energy out?
That’s exactly what happened one freezing December evening in Brooklyn when a thirty-year-old product manager stepped off stage after opening for one of the biggest names in modern poetry. He hit record on his phone, looked straight into the camera, and basically claimed the future: “We’re changing the game of poetry.” Then he yelled that one day he’d sell out the very theater he was standing in front of.
Most people would call that wild optimism. Less than three years later, he actually did it.
Turning Verses Into a Real Business
The story starts the way a lot of great side hustles do—with someone getting quietly furious about the way things work.
Back in early 2020, our guy (let’s call him the founder, because that’s what he became) showed up to his first open mic in New York City. He poured his soul out on stage, brought ten friends who cheered like crazy, and then… got handed a $20 bill—except it was going the wrong way. He had to pay to perform.
Something about that felt fundamentally backwards. “I’m the one filling seats,” he remembers thinking. “I’m the one rehearsing for weeks. Why am I paying them?”
So he did what any self-respecting creative with entrepreneurial blood would do: he started his own night, flipped the model upside down, and refused to charge artists a dime.
The First Spark That Actually Made Money
Early events were scrappy—bars, a few dozen people, breaking even if he was lucky. Then in late 2021 he tried something different. He rented a proper two-story restaurant, told everyone to dress like they were going somewhere important, added a menu, and turned the night into an experience.
He walked away with a thousand dollars in his pocket. For the first time, the math actually made sense.
The next show cleared four grand. That’s when the lightbulb didn’t just flash—it exploded.
“If I can make four thousand dollars in one night doing the thing I love anyway, what happens if I stop playing small?”
So he stopped playing small.
From Bars to the Legendary Apollo Theater
Most of us look up venue prices and immediately close the tab. He looked up the price for the Apollo Theater—fifty grand for one night—and thought, Okay, game on.
Eighteen months of nonstop smaller shows, Instagram lives, partnerships with brands, and pure grind later, he put down a non-refundable ten-thousand-dollar deposit. Then he sold the vision so hard that 1,400 people bought tickets before they even knew the lineup.
The night sold out. The deposit got covered. And poetry—spoken-word poetry—had a new landmark moment.
The Numbers Everyone Wants to Know
Fast-forward to 2024. The company he built—let’s call it a poetry movement with a P&L statement—pulled in $148,000 in ticket revenue alone. That’s roughly $12,000 every single month.
Now here’s the twist most headlines leave out: after paying videographers, photographers, DJs, door staff, venue deposits, and everyone else who makes the night magic, the actual profit was about five hundred bucks for the entire year.
He plowed every cent back in. He still hasn’t taken a personal paycheck from the business.
People hear that and immediately ask, “Then why bother?”
It’s Never Really About the Money (At First)
Look, I’ve started enough side projects to know the cliché is true: if you optimize for money too early, you kill the soul of the thing. He optimized for impact, for community, for proving the model could work without exploiting artists.
- Artists perform for free and leave with professional photos and video.
- The audience gets an elevated experience—think themed nights, immersive visuals, live painting, custom cocktails.
- Sponsors (big ones you’ve heard of) started paying attention because the room looks and feels different.
The result? A flywheel that keeps picking up speed.
And honestly, watching someone choose legacy over a quick check is refreshing in a world that usually screams “monetize faster.”
The Hidden Cost Nobody Talks About
Here’s the part that kept me up thinking: this side hustle sometimes eats 80 hours a week on top of a full-time tech job.
He’s had to learn the hard way that bodies eventually invoice you for overwork. One February he flew to D.C. literally fresh out of knee surgery to perform at a White House event, pushed through the pain, and ended up in the ER that same night.
“I’ve learned either you take a rest, or your body makes you take one.”
That quote hits different when you realize the person saying it just headlined the same theater he once screamed about on an empty street.
Lessons You Can Actually Use (Even If You’re Not a Poet)
Strip away the spotlights and the snapping fingers, and you’re left with a masterclass in building something that matters. Here are the pieces I think translate anywhere:
- Start with the injustice that personally annoys you—those are the problems worth solving.
- Flip the broken model instead of complaining about it.
- Make the early version so good people feel stupid saying no.
- Document everything publicly; social proof compounds faster than you think.
- Reinvest profits aggressively while the vision is still pure.
- Protect your health like it’s the actual business—because it is.
Maybe you’ll never rent out a historic theater. But the framework? That part scales to whatever you’re quietly obsessed with at 2 a.m.
What Happens Next
Last month he returned to that same Brooklyn theater—not as the opener, but as the host. The special guest? The very poet he once opened for years earlier.
Full circle doesn’t even begin to cover it.
And the craziest part? He’s still treating it like the beginning. Bigger venues are already being whispered about. Touring shows. Maybe even a platform that lets any city launch their own version.
Sometimes the side hustle isn’t about replacing the day job. Sometimes it’s about building something so undeniably you that the money eventually has to follow.
One freezing night on Tilden Avenue, a guy made a promise to his future self.
Turns out the future was listening.
If you’re sitting on a passion that keeps you up at night, maybe it’s time to stop asking permission and start flipping the model instead.
Who knows—one day you might be the one screaming into the void, except by then the void will be screaming back with a sold-out crowd.
