First Step Forward


Ever since I sent that poem in to be judged, I’ve found it hard to write. I figured, what’s the point of writing poetry when I don’t even know if I’m good?? It was ridiculous to think that, but I’m only human. After admitting this to a good friend of mine and having a long chat about writing and insecurities, I’ve written two new poems. This sounds like great news right?? Wrong. Both my new poems are different. It’s still my writing style, however they are raw, and they have the signature of the dark corner of my mind written all over them. Typically, I weave the true meaning of my poems through red herrings. I switch back and forth between flowery, deceptive words and the bare truth. This allows my audience to interpret my poems the way they see fit. However, one of my new poems is overly blunt, and the other is far too difficult to understand. I guess my midlife crisis is starting early haha.

Anyway, I had to tell that anecdote in order to lead into the real purpose of this post. My first step forward since sending my poem in was not starting to write again. It was starting to finalize. For my birthday (my birthday was six months ago), a fellow poet friend of mine got me a really nice journal. This journal, she told me, was for my finished works. Immediately I responded by saying that no poem is ever finished. Of course being a writer herself she already knew that. However, she wanted me to write the poems that were as finished as they could be in this book. That was six months ago and finally, two minutes ago (seriously), I wrote my name in that book. At last I claimed that journal with a few unsteady ink strokes across a sturdy page. I still don’t have any poems written in there, but hey it’s a first step right??

-adviceateleven

Putting Myself Out There


So I’m doing just as the title states. I’m going to put myself out there. I’m going to do this by applying to the Young Writer’s Conference. I’m not going to say where that is, but it’s at a college. What is it?? It’s a three day conference for young writers, hence the name haha. Basically there will be a ton of very accomplished writers there who are just dying to share their wealth of knowledge and advice with youngsters like myself. There will also be things like open mics, poetry slams, short story readings, and so on. I would stay in a dorm and attend seminars and workshops on poetry. However, and this is the whole putting myself out there part, I’m only applying to go. I had to send in an original poem of mine for them to judge and decide whether or not I can attend this event. This is a huge step for me. The last time that anyone was judging my poetry was two years ago at my last poetry slam. since then I’ve written a ton more poems, and I’ve changed my style quite a bit. I’m so nervous for this, and I’ve been going back and forth as to whether or not I should even apply, nevertheless, today my application was sent out. The last day that they except applications is February 17 (hence my milestone entitled Deadline), so I won’t know for quite a while if I got in or not. Just thinking about it makes me sick to my stomach.

When no one is there for me, poetry is. My notebook readily soaks up my tears, and it never minds if I never end up writing anything. I’ve sat there, pen in hand and static on the paper, hunched over my journal just letting the tears cascade over the contours of my face and onto the pale pages. I’ve heard the small noise of my own raindrops hitting the paper and blurring the azure lines that embrace me. In this fragile state my mind fills with white noise, but my diary never minds that no words stain the pages after I’m done. And when the hum clears, and the poetry pushes its way out of me, my notebook doesn’t complain when I press to hard, or my penmanship gets too sloppy. Poetry has always comforted me. It’s ironic how I can’t find the words to accurately describe how writing heals me.

So I hope that shows you just how important this whole thing is to me. This could change something, this could change me. I have an opportunity and for once, I refuse to let this one slip through my fingers. This time I’m going to do everything in my power to capture this opportunity. The only thing is that I’ve already done that. I’ve already given my 110% When I was editing my poem, when I was practicing my poem, when I still had that application in my hands there was something that I could do. That was me taking every chance I could and pouring myself into my work, but now there’s nothing I can do. I’ve done all that I can do and now it’s up to fate whether or not I’m accepted. That’s why I’m nervous. When it was still my turn to do all that I could I was fine because it was still up to me. Now, however, I’ve given up the reigns to fate. All I can do now is wait. So wish my luck, and I wish you all the best if luck as well.

-adviceateleven

Sigh


Okay, I’ve already posted something today, but I’m extremely depressed right now, so I need something to distract me. I haven’t posted a poem in a while, so I guess that’s what I’ll do. This poem is a very rough draft, so please no hate, but any ideas and what not would be appreciated. the poem is called Soar.

Soar

I am a bird

Don’t cage me,

Clip my wings,

Cut my beak

So I can’t sing

Broken winged

I fight

For my life

For my right

To take flight

To one day join my flock

To stop the clock

Because I don’t have time

I don’t have freedom

I have wonder

My feathers black and dull

Are as beautiful as my chime

The tune I croon

Bittersweet and sorrowful

Cry till I smile

Sing till I drop

Wake and sleep

Sleep and wake

Until I just sleep

When my wing heals

And I find flight

No one can stop me

From facing judgement

Today

Tomorrow

What is time to me

But wasted

Wasted on you

Wasted on the meaningless beauty

That we praise

 Wasted on the silky oil

Consuming me

Whispering how

I can’t change

How I don’t fit

In the silver box

My friends worship

And my foes reside

Where I live I wake to water

Clear and pure

Gentle hands cleansing

My wounded heart

With its wobbling beat

Barely pumping

In its wake

The liquid crystal leaves me

The real me

Black veil pulled back

Camouflaged in color

Shattered in pieces

But breathing

Broken

But beautiful

Maybe its not today

Maybe I have time

Just look how I shine

In this moment

I am timeless

I’ll never go out of style

So I guess I’ll stay

But only for a while

I’ve got other places to be

Alright, that’s all for now. I hope you enjoyed this poem. Bye.

-adviceateleven