Over all I really enjoy reading. It’s been a great past time since I was very young, and not to toot my horn, but I’ve almost always excelled at it. However, no matter how hard I had tried in elementary school, middle school, and high school, I couldn’t get into poetry. I feel college has really helped show me how to read and appreciate poetry through making me a better critical thinker and reader.
At some point in my life, I’ve tried my hand at every creative outlet there has been. First with story writing, I would set my stuffed animals down in a circle and read to them the tales of a blind girl from Louisiana named Wilma. To this day, I still love coloring, I can’t draw to save my life though. In middle school, I thought I was going to be the lead singer of a rock band that my friends and I had formed. I had never really dipped my artistic wick in poetry. I sat down one day and wrote down things I felt about life. Below is this poem.
Nails across my face
Like nails on a chalkboard
I stand like a tree
My bark has been ripped from me
within me and the wall.
Memories of yesteryear
Of pieces of my bark
Of people that loved
If not by obligation
Than by nothing.
To hit back is a fight I can not win
Immediate guilt is placed upon me
The strength I possess too strong.
To cry is a sin
Teardrops like branches
Breaking down the usefullness of my form
Like a flower, they are called
Who knew violets
Harbored such violence.
I had plans on sending this poem into the Coe Review, but really felt that it probably wasn’t well written enough to be published. I just honestly enjoyed getting whatever it was out that I was feeling that day.