I have always acquired a sense of being through poetry. The first time I wrote poetry, however was not by choice. On a car trip back from Illinois I was abruptly woken up, not by the horns or the car radio but, by an idea. I pulled out my journal and a pencil and began writing what I thought was the best thing ever written.
Pet Shop
Their dog was as perfect as perfect can be
Even his name was perfect you see
His name was Rick
He had not one tick
And he was everyone’s number one pick
People would pay hundreds and thousands of grands
Just to have Rick in the palm of their hands
But Rick didn’t want to be an object or prize
He wanted a loving family that saw the sweetness in his eyes
So even though Rick was worth hundreds of grands
He found a true family with welcoming hands
When I read my parents this poem the first thing they asked was where I found it. That was all it took to instill the confidence that I was a great writer. My new future formulating in my mind, I was to become a children’s writer touring the world while spreading poetry to young kids. When I stepped out of the car and into reality I was awakened by something different, something I experienced when I was in fourth grade and wore bootcut jeans to school… judgement. When I read the poem in class my teacher neither liked it nor disliked it she just thought of it as okay. I went from great to okay in a matter of seconds and I had always been okay, I wanted to be great. Freshman year of high school, I realized that all great poems had a deeper meaning. So, I became deep.
Misshapen
I show my face from underneath the bandages
Quickly I hear the sounds of laughter
My nose is misshapen
My legs to thick
Then they look to my people
With a scorned eye they say
Your nose is misshapen and your legs to thick
One calls out to explain she has neither a big nose nor thick legs
However she is seen with the same traits
The more I wrote the more I understood that one opinion does not dictate the quality of an individual’s writing. I wasn’t an okay writer and I didn’t have to become deep to be a great poet. That was all just opinion. However, a variety of insight is essential in development and continues to help me become a better writer.
The Mind
A holster for ideas that don’t connect
Formulated by topics and demoralizing decisions like who to elect
Strung with thick silky webs from the emeralds mark
Sewed lines forming where it was once dark
The ideas and topics that flourished and grew
now refurbished, stolen by someone new
The eye that never meant to judge
Suffered years of oppression and now holds a grudge
A wondrous warren skin deep or submerged
Enabling a scattered soul to be heard
Airplane
The veiled darkness illuminated with sectors glowing so bright
It looked as though the sun could never leave
The glow so captivating, enabling everyone and everything to go somewhere
Until the ground neared prompting the rising of sleep deprived eyes as does the sun
Leaving a helpless storm to take foot
Everyone rushed for their belongings with the knowledge that soon a new place awaits
If they had just turned their heads ever so slightly and peered through the window
The could have just seen it
Instead willowing pictures filled their sleeves making for a nice center piece
