How thy words flow…

Have you ever felt knocked down by day to day task? Demolished by feelings of insecurities? Or even champion for a cause only to find out, you don’t have what it takes. Well then, join me in this life long quest of mine. A challenge I wholeheartedly decided to take on despite my lack thereof. See, growing up I had difficulty with my speech seeing that I was an immigrant from a foreign land. I couldn’t write a sufficient sentence much less a paragraph. I hated reading because I didn’t have the knowledge to differentiate the vital parts of a story, to me it was all one big cluster. Reading books overwhelmed me to the point where I lost interest, little old me just could not keep up with English literature. For years this went on, and for years I referred to spark notes or those books for dummies.

Over time I evolved and found a great love for writing. Poetry became a calming mechanism for a world where I found it hard to fit in. Satisfaction came in waves, a feeling that often orchestrated my mood in the best of times and the worst of times. Poetry put me in a authentic illustrious vibe when it caught my attention. Short and to the point, well written, and the flow of words coinciding to say the least. Thoughts and ideas vary immensely and no two interpretation are often the same. Similar to an abstract painting.

I could do that, I could imitate poetry until I was able to carry a baton of words on my own, on a sheet of paper until my words become sufficient. Then in the tenth grade, I think I was introduced to poets like Dr. Maya Angelou, and Langston Hughes and realized their style of poetry spoke volumes to me. Sitting in the last seat of the first row I became accustomed to I know why the cage birds sings. For every “I rise” or “I’se climbing” I felt motivated not only by the message but by their use of words and the climatic factor, these authors were like me, they represented me, they were paving the way for a lil colored girl like me. No matter the poet, no matter the style I was tentative. I was in awe of poetry and I found myself keeping up from the shortest haiku to the longest of the Beowulf series. There was no poetry I didn’t enjoy. There wasn’t a right or wrong way to write Poetry I told myself. You have to be able to be flexible with words, play with the words till eventually they all come together. I felt I belonged somewhere with my new discourse, my new awkward hobby occupied my wondering mind. Again, I was in awe with each new works of art I found among the world of poetry.

So here was my stance, defeated by books that contained multiple chapters and a cluster of words that would make me feel insufficient. To my rescue came the beautiful art of spoken words in the form of poetry. Love often accentuated the positive and negative aspects of human emotions. As I wrote my interpretation of poetry in my many notebooks I realized how intimate words were. They accentuate the lyrics of which we are solely trying to get across by means of communication methods. The words often set the tone of the point we are trying to get across. Words can undoubtedly be used of intimate scriptures that somehow alludes the heart, or harsh words that reiterates conflicts and start confusion. Nonetheless words have awoken my sense of creativity and while it continues to be a growing process, it remains one of my first true love.

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