Sunday, May 19, 2013

Words are only words.
The words that I know and love, I use and reuse, try to recycle them in such a way that it seems like an entirely new word. I may fool myself, but I don't fool the reader. What am I even trying to accomplish here? I dislike my sentence structure and I have never been good at writing my whole life. The way I write has held me back in every single class of mine. A professor pretty much gave me a D as a final grade and told me to my face, "What english classes did you take in high school? Why didn't you use the Writing Center?" And this is for an Art Education class mind you, he goes onto say, "Well at least you still can be an art therapist," with  smile on his face. I wish I broke down into tears, to let him see how hurt I was. Before this final evaluation went through at the half point of the semester I told him I was dropping this class, that I was struggling. He kept me in the class and told me he would help me. Some help right, every time I asked him questions, he would be surrounded by all the other girls in class that just completely gush over him, as he is some sort of God!

And yet, poetry is not real writing because I take as an art form.
What I cannot convey in my art, I feel as though I can write it out better.
I do not let poetry have any rules.
Freedom is poetry.
It is my form of revenge for
anything useless I have been told.

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