What we can learn from Kindergarteners

 Observing an elementary class for my education degree was not something I thought I’d find enjoyable, but surprisingly, it’s been a major source of inspiration and general musings for me the past few months. And my takeaway from that is…

…we should all try a little harder to find that inner child.

I mean, little kids are so funny and obnoxious and honest. They always tell it like they see it. They only lie when it amuses them. Like little imps of compressed bluntness and mischief.

And they make great subjects for poetry.

 

Cell-mates

This little boy’s hair

is spiky,

like his personality.

He swaggers past,

returning a scoff

for my smile.

I’m just another motivational poster

on the wall.

But two minutes later,

his sass banishes him

to the red chair in my corner.

 

I feel a grudging kinship

to this boy

and the isolated corner we share,

both watching through a screen,

present, but not participating.

 

Once, many report cards ago,

I was the obnoxious one,

frequenter of that dreaded seat

in the corner.

The evil eye was

my weapon of choice, then,

but by now,

I’ve learned to wear my solitude

like a well-loved sweater,

as a quiet observer,

content in my banishment.

 

He,

on the other hand,

wears gel-spiked hair

full of frustrations.

And having no pen

with which to graffiti the surface

of his desk,

lets fly his stinging arrows aloud.

Happy National Poetry Month!

I’m a little late to the party on this (mostly because I’m lazy), but since April is National Poetry Month, I think a tribute post is in order.

So, without further ado, here is a list of things that poetry has taught me about writing (and life in general).

1. The key is to get it all out the first time. This is a huge struggle for me because of my extreme perfectionism-I always want the poem (or the essay) to be exactly how I envision it, without having to revise. But what I have found is that that strategy kind of sucks the feeling out of the writing, especially with poetry. Sometimes when you want to capture an idea you just have to word-vomit it out onto some paper without worrying about how “good” it is. That way you can go back and tweak it later, but the original inspiration is preserved.
2. Inspiration is not something to be afraid of. When it hits you, go for it. Even if you don’t quite know what you’re feeling or how to convey it with words, don’t let that scare you away from chasing that inspiration. More often than not, the writing process will actually help you get to a point of clarity.
3. Not every word is necessary. I know myself well enough to be aware of my tendency to ramble. Constructing long, drawn-out (yet grammatically correct) sentences is one of my fortes. Sometimes that’s called for, but if there’s one thing I’ve learned from writing poetry (and this goes for prose as well), it’s that you can almost always say the same exact thing with half as many words-making it even more impactful. And being concise forces you to be more choosy with your vocabulary! 
4. Poetry is a really good way to preserve a memory. Like taking a photograph of a feeling. That being said,
5. Not every experience needs to be preserved. Being a poet means you start seeing meaning in all kinds of ordinary and extraordinary things. Life becomes an inspiration. But trying to write everything is not only impossible, but can be tiresome-like posting a picture of your lunch on Instagram every day. Some things are just meant to be lived, and seeing things through a poet’s eyes always enhances the moment, whether or not anything comes from it.
6. Not all pieces are created equal. Some poems are descriptive, some deeply philosophical, some weird, or fun, or kind of pointless. And all of that is awesome. Poetry is about experiences, and different experiences require different voices. I constantly have to remind myself that comparing one of my pieces to another in terms of voice or vibe can be discouraging. And having too heavy a focus on all of your writing being equally meaningful (or silly, or eloquent) just sucks the joy out of the creation. So embrace whatever you write, or do. It’s all you, even if it doesn’t all have the same feel.

This concludes today’s program on Why Poetry Makes Lives Better. Tune in next time for more of my non-sequitur ramblings.

In the meantime, be excellent to each other (and party on, dudes).

What made the difference

 Before my senior year of high school, I thought poetry beyond my reach.

I mean, I’ve always loved writing. Short stories, funny anecdotes, sassy essays for standardized exams, all of that. But poetry felt weird. Like its own separate universe that’s somehow nebulous and very, very structured all at once. It always seemed to me like you had to either be really philosophical or really rhyme-oriented in order to write good poetry, or any at all.

Then I did a study of Billy Collins’ work for my AP Literature class, and that was it for me. I knew I could never be as subtle, as observant, as unaffectedly witty as him (for real, he’s a word angel. Read his poem On Turning Ten and it’ll change your life).

But I enrolled in a creative writing class second semester anyway, because I started thinking, maybe I could do my own thing.

 

But 

I had this really cool creative writing teacher

and she got up in front of the class

every single day

with an arsenal of puns

and way too much pep,

and she made us write poems.

And you couldn’t complain,

because she’d just fire right back

with a confetti canon of sparkles and positivity.

 

Our classroom was basically

a glorified cave,

all cinder blocks and no windows

but who needs windows

when you have a dwarf star for a teacher?