Poetry

Take a look at a few of my poems followed by my rationale for writing them!

Four Walls

Once Upon a Time

There were three little pigs who built themselves three houses

One was made of straw,

The other sticks,

But the smartest of all made his out of BRICKS.

They flourished in their homes

And grew into themselves

But they were young

And still had much to learn

Their four walls were their protector

Saving them from bugs, from rain,

From all that wanted to hurt them.

Four walls.

But what happens when those walls built to protect you,

Fail you?

WHen the big bad wolf comes along and blows them down,

Tearing you limb from limb with his razor sharp…

Words.

What happens when the four walls of a classroom become your abuser rather than your savior?

When the walk down the hall is like a walk down the plank

And you fall and you fall and you fall and you…

SPLASH!

You’re drowning and you don’t care

Because you were drowning before

And no one seemed to notice.

You could swim (you know how)

And save yourself.

But you can’t.

Or you won’t.

Because of all those “I hate you’s” and “You suck” and all of those “You have no friends”

Have crawled into your head and like a fly to its trap they stuck.

But as you lay there,

Floating,

Suspended in time,

Hear my voice.

Hear my rhyme.

The world can be a bitter place,

With nowhere left to hide.

With any problem you will face

Know there comes a time.

Where it hurts a little less.

You’ll laugh a little more.

The sun will shine upon your face.

Your wings will grow and soar.

I won’t say it’s easy.

Ord knows it’ll take some work.

But swim to the top.

Take a breath.

I’ll be there waiting,

Arms outstretched.

As a writer, I find that I love to see how deeply I can express myself. Growing up, and even now, I am very fortunate. I grew up in a happy, stable household, with two parents who continue to be amazing role models. I had a small group of friends, but a solid group, where I knew I could always count on them. However, I always felt "deeper." Whatever that meant. I felt like there was so much more to me left to me to explore. I didn't know exactly what that was, but I explored that deeper side through my writing. Just like an actor likes to take on roles that challenge them and are different from who they are, I like to tackle writing that challenges me. Can I move people? Can I make them think? Can I make them feel? I write to see how deep I can go, how moved I myself can become as a writer.

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Child

Can you feel the sand between your toes?

The spray of the sea when it hits your nose?

Do you run in circles on a summer night?

Trying to catch the last glimpse of a firefly’s light?

Do you hang upside down on the monkey bars?

Feeling all the blood rush to your head

Or freedom that comes with letting go?

Do you walk up to strangers and say

“Hi! What’s your name?”

“Want to be my friend?”

Or are you busy drawing rainbows?

Just because you can.

No.

I’m not.

I’m 25.

I have a job.

I have a life.

I have no time to frolick and fly.

Yet I’ve found time to let the child inside me die.

When did I become an adult?

When did that mean dress pants, blazors, a serious face?

When did it become creepy to play on a jungle gym?

Or when were we labled “weird” for asking someone to be your friend?

I do not understand.

I wanna fly like a bird to the ends of the earth.

I wanna roll in the mud then play in the surf.

I wanna paint and color and play with my dolls.

But I can’t.

Why not?

Who said growing up meant forgetting who we were?

Who said growing up meant losing the child inside?

Who said growing up meant I could be silly?

Not me.

Not I.

Please forgive me, I must go tie-dye.

Being an adult is hard. So very hard. I long for the days of my Mommy cleaning up after me. Of knowing that Daddy took care of anything that was wrong or any bills that needed to be paid. I long for the days of not knowing what bills are. Of having to know when to bring my car in for an oil change. Of saving up my money and being PROUD to have about $53 dollars in my bank, rather than eating ramen noodles because I have $53 to my name. I miss the child like innocence where I didn't have to worry about what was becoming of our country and how that would affect me. The slam I wrote above represents this exciting and scary time in my life and how longing for the past doesn't help me. There doesn't have to be a clear distinction between being a kid and being an adult. I believe that being an adult is made harder when we forget the kid inside of us. Just like in "Eleven" by Sandra Cisneros, we are every age that makes us up. I am 26 and 25 and 17 and 13 and 10...9...8...7...6...5...4...3...2...1. And I am darn proud of where I've come from and where I'm going.

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A Letter to My Students

Dear 8th grade students,

Believe it or not…

I was 13 once.

I shopped at your stores:

Abercrombie, Hollister, American Eagle.

I know what it’s like to go through middle school.

And whether you’ll admit it or not

It’s a weird time in your life.

Middle School was the worst two years of my life.

I was awkward.

You look at me with blank expressions,

Lost in a wold I feel I cannot reach.

I know you have a brain in there-

“Knock! Knock! It’s your teacher-can you heaaaaaaaaar me?”

I’m your teacher

and you need me

and I need you

because what is a teacher without her students?

Sometimes I look out at all of you,

Like I’m in a zoo.

We have the monkies on one side who cannot seem to sit still

And the giraffes with their hands like necks outstretched in the air

And the snakes are sneaky:

“Oh I have my homework just not with me!”

And the flamingos at the watering hole,

Pampering and primping,

And the prarie dogs with their heads in the sand

And the elephants

God do they even understand!

And I wonder how am I going to get through…

Why did I ever choose what I do.

And then I remember

That Light in the Attic

And the letter that said “You’re pretty fantastic!”

Or the “I’ve read another book!” she said with excitement

Or the kid who read three just to Dab for me-

But HEY he’s reading,

So what do I care?

I want you to learn

And love what you do.

But you’re 13

And I’m optimistic.

So if you learn one thing,

It’s that I care,

And someday,

Oneday,

You’ll get there.

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I write so I don't EXPLODE. I write to express my frustrations at my students and at myself. The poem above and the poem below are two examples of writing to explore my feelings. I am frustrated at the youth of today and how lazy they can be. I am frustrated with myself when I take things so personally and blame myself for something when I did nothing wrong. Or when I apologize for how I feel.

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Angry at Myself

Why is it that when I’m mad or upset with someone

I end up feeling like the crazy one?

“I’m sorry for getting frustrated-I felt like I was doing all the work.”

He stares and half smiles and I want to scream.

He says nothing.

My brain says a ton.

“WELL HELLO DID YOU LOOK UP ANYTHING?”
“DID YOU LEAVE THIS UP TO ME?”

But I stand there and wait while nothing comes.

“Did you help?” I finally ask and he sheepishly shrugs like a turtle poking out of its shell.

Not really.

“GAH” “THEN TELL ME THAT SO I’M NOT CRAZY”

Now it’s morning and I look for reassurance.

I don’t want to ask again but I can’t help it.

“Are we okay?”

Yes. Believe me.

But I’m not and it’s not because of him.

It’s because of me.

How do I stop feeling like I did something WRONG by being upset?

And when. Can. I. Just. Be?

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OCD

OCD Slam

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Blink three times.

Take a drink of water, put it down, tap it three times.

Have to get up on the “right” side of the bed.

GAH!

What is it about this life that’s so hard?

Why can’t I roll out of bed without a care in the world and

Face. The. Day.

Make some coffee.

Check the coffee.

Is it unplugged? Will the house burn down?

Should I check the stove? I should check the stove.

If I don’t check the stove the house will for sure burn down.

Those thoughts popped in and out of my head in a total time of 20 seconds.

When do I get a break? I’m exhausted.

My thoughts run around and around and around in my head

And they never LEAVE ME ALONE

...like a woodpecker, constantly tapping away at the tree that is my brain.

When you have OCD you are obsessed with everything.