Day Six- Poetry
I remember middle school being a rush of classes and cliques, bullies and boredom. I remember it being a place where I felt I didn't fit in. I was quiet and smart (at least in my opinion). I read books not assigned by a teacher and listened to music that varied from standard Hip Hop and R&B. In other words, I was a weirdo. A weirdo with no voice. I discovered poetry in 7th grade English class. We were reading the words of Robert Frost. The poem was, "Stopping by the Woods on a Snowy Evening". I felt the simple beauty of his words. I saw the imagery of snow falling gracefully in the woods. The quiet peace settling as night drew on was a powerful image for me. I loved it. I wanted more.
Soon I began to read other poets. Langston Hughes and his beautiful, thoughtful pieces moved me. Edgar Allen Poe's dark words were perfect on a stormy night. Countee Cullen brought out the pain and beauty of being Black. Maya Angelou showed me how phenomenal it was to be a woman. Emily Dickinson's words stirred a gentle sadness and hope within me. Nikki Giovanni's poetry was pure unapologetic, power. And then I discovered Pablo Neruda and I knew I would forever fall into his words. Along this journey I had been writing my own words. I let my insecurities and loneliness go, choosing to allow it to fill the pages instead of my heart. I had found an outlet for all that I had been feeling. My words had strength. I'd read my poetry back to myself and see the image of a person I never knew existed. It amazed me, all the things I had been keeping inside. It was painful. It was fragile. It was beautiful. And somehow, all of that was me.
To this day, when I read the poems I have written, I always feel this sense of surreality. This is me. And I am proud of that. No matter what emotion spurred my poetry, I always see beauty in it. That realization makes me incredibly happy.
The image at the top of this blog post is a short poem I wrote called simply, "Night". It's one of my favorites.
