10th Grade Enhlish Class.
I remember sitting in my 10th grade English class with a book in my hand trying to hide a piece of paper and pencil on top of my book which I couldn’t tell you the title of, because I wasn’t reading it. I couldn’t help myself but to write poems. My teacher quietly walked behind me and read my poem over my shoulder then asked me to follow her to the hallway. I thought “oh boy, now I was caught.” To my surprise my English teacher just wanted to tell me that my poem was well written and I should try and have it published in the school poetry journal.
The next day I brought my polished poem to the teacher’s mailbox room and dropped it off in Ms. Rose’s box. She was the journalism teacher. Ms. Rose ended up being my teacher for journalism the next year. After I left my poem in the box I just waited for several days. At least a week must have passed. When the book was finally published I thumbed through it to find several good poems that had a drawing next to them, and they had all been written by students, some I even knew. When I reached the last page I was disappointed to find that my poem had not been entered. I’m not sure if it was rejected or I had missed the deadline. Either way I was disappointed.
This was disappointing to me because my poetry was the most important writing I had ever done. I wrote poetry to express myself which was Important, especially with parents going through an emotional divorce that included my siblings and I more than it should have. These were tough times for me as they are for most teenagers. I wrote often times of feelings that I had stemming from this divorce. For example, the poem I wrote for the poetry journal was written about feelings I had about my mother at the time.
Even though my poem didn’t make it into the book I wasn’t discouraged and partly because my teacher showed an interest in my writing. Showing an interest as a teacher is crucial. Had my teacher looked over my shoulder and kept going without saying anything or have gotten made at me for not reading I may have been discouraged.
When I wrote this poem, I just started writing words and feelings on paper. I would scratch things off as I didn’t like it or it didn’t seem to flow with the pattern I was trying to create with repetition. I used metaphors to explain how these emotions I was dealing with were affecting my body on the inside. I also took this poem with me through years. The first city lights were shining from Chicago. The next crowd was in Dallas. It represents a move. I took a walk through what I had been through during those years.
I wrote my poems to share with others such as friends or family members including the person in whom I wrote it about. This was in a way a part of release for me, the process of writing and then sharing the writing. I couldn’t write something without sharing it and talking to someone about what I wrote and why I wrote it the way I did. I created my own form of counseling.
The next day I brought my polished poem to the teacher’s mailbox room and dropped it off in Ms. Rose’s box. She was the journalism teacher. Ms. Rose ended up being my teacher for journalism the next year. After I left my poem in the box I just waited for several days. At least a week must have passed. When the book was finally published I thumbed through it to find several good poems that had a drawing next to them, and they had all been written by students, some I even knew. When I reached the last page I was disappointed to find that my poem had not been entered. I’m not sure if it was rejected or I had missed the deadline. Either way I was disappointed.
This was disappointing to me because my poetry was the most important writing I had ever done. I wrote poetry to express myself which was Important, especially with parents going through an emotional divorce that included my siblings and I more than it should have. These were tough times for me as they are for most teenagers. I wrote often times of feelings that I had stemming from this divorce. For example, the poem I wrote for the poetry journal was written about feelings I had about my mother at the time.
Even though my poem didn’t make it into the book I wasn’t discouraged and partly because my teacher showed an interest in my writing. Showing an interest as a teacher is crucial. Had my teacher looked over my shoulder and kept going without saying anything or have gotten made at me for not reading I may have been discouraged.
When I wrote this poem, I just started writing words and feelings on paper. I would scratch things off as I didn’t like it or it didn’t seem to flow with the pattern I was trying to create with repetition. I used metaphors to explain how these emotions I was dealing with were affecting my body on the inside. I also took this poem with me through years. The first city lights were shining from Chicago. The next crowd was in Dallas. It represents a move. I took a walk through what I had been through during those years.
I wrote my poems to share with others such as friends or family members including the person in whom I wrote it about. This was in a way a part of release for me, the process of writing and then sharing the writing. I couldn’t write something without sharing it and talking to someone about what I wrote and why I wrote it the way I did. I created my own form of counseling.
Below Her Feet
In the first city lights…
In the city darkness,
I ran.
In the black hole, she fell.
Inside, I tumbled- for breathe.
In the black; my hair broke.
In the first city lights…
In the city darkness,
I ran.
“Inside she hurt, Inside
So do I.”
In my mind it’s heartbreak.
In my knot she’s the twist.
In my ache she’s the wound.
In the next crowd
In the new moon
We left.
In her eyes, she saw my pain.
In between her fingers, my blood still seeped.
In my hopes, she forgot.
In the next crowd
In the new moon.
She left.
In hands she landed.
In her mind, I faded.
In the dark; she left me.
In the city lights
In the city darkness
She runs.
