My Words

I’m used to writing with a certain style in mind. At least for things that other people are actually going to see. I’m not sure yet how to blend that into my writing here or if my more casual style is working. I guess I’ll learn as I go!

My first writing memory comes from when I was about seven or eight years old. It was a magical story about a girl whose best friend was a goat because her mom had died. This adventure came after my phase of screaming at the top of my lungs whenever I was upset… At least I was voicing my feelings better and quieter. I had other short stories, but none of them stuck like that one.

Fast forward through about eight years that were probably 60% writer’s block to when I had two poems published in my high school’s literary magazine. That was a big day for me. I had spent my semester-long creative writing class working to what would hopefully be my full potential. It was a great experience, minus the teacher, that was full of interesting exercises and lasting skills. My favorite of the two poems is darker, but I am proud of it.

Changes (A Sestina):
Color filled her cheeks
As the sky turned to gray
And the wind messed up her hair,
But not her mind.
She was content,
With love in her heart.
With time came aches in her heart
Only blush would color her cheeks.
While love kept her content,
It could not save her from gray
Offices and other’s state-of-mind.
She often sat twirling her hair.
With the falling of the leaves came the falling of her hair
Which meant there was no healing in her heart,
So she had little security in her mind.
No amount of blush or blood gave her color in her cheeks
And her vibrant blue eyes were stained gray.
She longed to feel content.
The holidays gave her false contentment
While she wore someone else’s hair,
But then the white snow turned gray
And her heart
Felt as cold and lifeless as the appearance of her cheeks.
The New Year did not leave her with a fresh state of mind.
She told herself that even with positivity in mind
The test results would never keep her content.
She had hollows in her cheeks
And not a strand of her own hair.
For Valentines Day all she wanted was a candy heart,
But all that welcomed her was a room of gray.
Within months, her world had turned to nothing but gray.
She lost the willingness to stay strong in her mind
As pain grew in her heart.
Soon she would be content.
As they lay her to rest without hair,
She hoped someone would attempt to add color to her cheeks.
She would not be remembered for her gray hair or cheeks, but for how loving and content she was in her heart before her condition distracted every part of her mind.

Unofficially:
When a women chooses to change her given name when she marries
Another name and history can be lost.
Other times,
it is no longer her name
But it is something she identifies with.
My name is Nanticoke,
Gone from Delaware
As a Native American tribe
Without a trace or much information.
My name is Adams,
Like the second President of the United States
That is confirmed to be rooted among my family tree.
My name is Eib,
The surname known by Amelia Earhart herself
Who drank lemonade on her porch
With her best childhood friend,
My great grandmother Dorothea.
My name is Trower,
Like a restaurant that used to stand in Philadelphia
Run by John Nelson Trower,
The wealthiest African American in the country at the time of his death,
And my great great-grandfather.
My name is Nelson,
Like my grandmother Bettie Lou,
Who accepts that her mother died before she could know her,
And denies a chance that she left
To return to her life as a young single model.
Officially, my name is Irwin.
It is a Scottish variant
Of Irvin
That ended up in the likes of Kansas and Illinois.
All these other names are not present in my signature,
But I would not be here
To tell these stories
Without them.

We also did an exercise where we were given random words that we had to make into a poem. I would like to think it makes some sense, but not everyone gets it.

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I’m no Edgar Allen Poe or Dr.Seuss , even though I wish I were.  I don’t exactly know why I am sharing them, but I hope you’ll enjoy. I hope I post more poetry and more creative pieces of mine in the future. I really really do, because I have been laking lately.

I find it hard for my mind to be quiet, but at the same time I am very shy in person, so writing things out is a perfect medium. Writing almost everyday will hopefully help me grow as a writer. Whether that be more free form, poetry, or both. Only time will tell!

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