What You Said, How I See It

Not too long ago, someone made me mad. You may think, “Oh, that’s normal. People get mad at people all the time, right?” Sure. Of course people get mad at other people. But what I was upset about was someone saying that poetry is not about emotion. It isn’t about throwing your heart and soul and emotion onto paper. They said it was about methodical thinking, logic, and concise word to syllable ratios, or something crazy like that. Oh, and it has to rhyme.

Admittedly, some poetry is like that. It is cold. It is lonely. It is largely unable to be related to by the masses. Poetry like that makes me want to pop balloons…and I really don’t like popping balloons.

There are so many different kinds of poetry. There’s the kind written when you are mad. When you are sad or happy. When you are laughing or when you are crying. You can write poetry about anything; simple joys  to deep, heartfelt sorrows and frustrations. I should know. I am a poet. I write poems whenever I am hit by the mysterious inspirations that sometimes occur at the weirdest of times… (i.e. during science class, in the middle of the night whilst sitting at the dining room table).

So after reading that comment about “what poetry should be”, I wrote a little poem. It does not rhyme. It does not have a very particular syllable set. It has my feelings and my words and that’s all. You don’t have to like it. No one has to like it. I did not write this poem to be loved and admired by others.

You see, I write my poems for me. I write them to rant and to let out everything I hold inside that cannot be a story or that hasn’t actually happened to me, but could someday. They aren’t lies. They are truths and imaginary moments.

So here it is. This is the poem I wrote after reading that poetry was methodical and logical.
This is not a test.

It is not a thing

that you can control

or dictate how to do.

This is me and myself.

It is my heart beating

and my heart breaking

at the things in life that

bite

sting

push

burn

poke

and prod until I scream

in anger and annoyance

at a world that understands

‘us’ but not ‘me’.

This is not a school assignment.

It is my blood and tears

my pains and fears

and my sorrows.

You can tell me no

that it’s just no good

that my words are all wrong

“Entry Dismissed”.

My words

heart

mind

soul

pain

joy

anger

happiness

love

hate

sincerity.

Ignore me if you must

but I will still exist.

I’m not just another contestant,

but I’m still part of the race.

 What do you think? Is it a poem?