The purpose of this poem was to define poetry. But on a personal level, for me, it was an exercise of breaking the mold of creative restraints, and breathing onto the page, as instructed by our teacher. I believe what I came to write, represents not what I know poetry to be, but what I want it to become, for me at least. I included this piece because it’s my first significant piece of work for my Global RaP class and because I look at it as a small sort of triumph. With it, I forced myself into a realm that’s daunting and mysterious, and something you absolutely you should only try if you are a POET, if you feel like a POET, and people give you respect as a POET. After all the mental drama, I emerged still breathing, and that’s why I’m proud. I wrote a poem. Nice. Through this whole process, I realized that the act of creating something, no matter what artistic merit it meets, is a battle. It’s like shedding dead skin.
To build skyscrapers of rhyme till’ they pierce the clouds, and when they get there you can stop…
But only for a bit because there are more skyscrapers to build, more deeds to fill, more will…
And these skyscrapers cannot be knocked down once they’re etched into the ocean of blank white.
In come the itchy fingers crawling up the stomach and into the throat,
And you can shove them back down with these words and hold it there for only so long,
Before your forced to let go of those wordy tongs…