Poetic Power!

Poetic Power!

This month has probably been one of the most chaotic of my entire summer! But, in a way, I’ve considered it a good thing. What with getting a job as an intern at the fabulous Attic Youth Center, to working with a published author and slowly finding my voice in the world of spoken word poetry. With Brave New Voices arriving in Philly, I figure, why not talk about some of the experiences?

Its probably no surprise to anyone that I’m one of the shyest people out there, but if you ask me to express myself in words, you’d be pretty astounded about what I’d end up saying. This is entirely the case with my poetry. For the past three weeks, I’ve been working alongside several other teenagers, and under the supervision, if you will, of the amazing, TS Hawkins, I’ve found myself almost finding a place in something I’d never see myself doing. The more I see myself writing, the more I end up sharing, and coming from the girl who’s too embarrassed to leave voice mails, the feeling is a huge step forward. I know my posts haven’t been STAMP related in awhile, but the more I put out there, the more confident I get about going out and doing amazing things with the museums. Pretty weird, I know, but before this becomes an entire ramble, I guess I’ll show you what I mean.  This is something I wrote a few months ago, that I managed to put up somewhere on the internet. The overall theme can be considered a bit dark, but I completely blame that on poetic license.

I need to say something. 
It narrows down to one simple fact, the idea that not everyone is created equal, but we all come from a whole, even if we don’t always believe in it, something had to happen, and the nuances of these events aren’t always something to be cherished. 
I want to thank you. 
For all the sleepless nights, fighting past the calm of the storm, finding feelings of breaking through bedroom walls, cracking windows with bare fists, allowing the glass to wound the wounded. 
The days where it didn’t matter what happened, I only wanted to wake up alive. 
The uncertainty. The insanity. The fact that everyday, I question whether or not I’m going to get hit by a bus, or dropped off in some unknown building, without any sign of rescue. Okay, me, I’m not crazy, it doesn’t matter that I’m always doing the same things over again, expecting the same result. I am not the minority. I’m trapped in in someone else’s world. 
When I dream, there’s no such thing as childhood. I haven’t experienced each item I’m supposed to, the fear eats away that something will happen is just too much of a risk. But you didn’t stop there. Sadism runs deep, just as deep as each laceration, showing my own lack of communication, and I’m certainly not a masochist , at least by your terms. 
Sometimes I wonder if I should’ve lived at all. When you’re so caught up in the moment, it kills you, and even then, you’re still weak. What may not kill you doesn’t make me stronger, and the longer I wait for an answer, the more brain cells get damaged in the process. 
So please, spare me the regret, spare me the apologies, spare me everything and anything you want to give to me at this point, because in the end, there is no end, the process continues forward until we’re reduced to nothing. 
I want to thank you. I only have one more thing to say. 
Why?

Again, not some of my brightest work, but it’s something I’m really proud of. In honor of the Brave New Voices competition this week, I’ll be posting some of my favorite pieces that I’ve written, almost to document how much progress I’ve been making as a poet, overall. Keep an eye out for them, and like always, keep on writing! Until next time!