Archive for the ‘poetry’ Category

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hidden memories.

January 22, 2012

Lately I have been in situations which have triggered me to remember things that were long buried in my childhood and adolescence. These are things that I had basically forgotten about, and aren’t really important but they make me pause and think “did I really do those things? I was evidently such a different person back then!”

Toby recently bought a book about fonts called Just My Type, and he has really been enjoying it (I might be borrowing it from him afterwards, though I have two books queued up to finish first!) and we have been noticing the uses of Century Gothic (our favourite), Helvetica and so on in the public domain and media. We were in Starbucks in Richmond yesterday and Toby observed the use of various fonts on the menu boards, napkins and articles on the walls – it was a little bit random and I think that it is probably down to different things being created at different times. I subsequently remembered that in Year 7, I had an IT lesson where we actually created our own font and we had to engineer the spaces around the letters so that words didn’t look too spaced apart etc. It was interesting, but not really anything in itself to write about. The thing that interested me is that I was 12 years old when this had happened, and yet it felt buried in my past and when remembering it, it was dim and cloudy like I was remembering the life of another person.

I suppose this is proof for the fact that at 12 years old, although we feel like young adults and don’t want to be referred to as ‘children’, we still have a lot of growing up to do and by the time we are fully-formed adults, we have changed a lot. Recently I was working on some lyrics for some new songs, and I remembered that when I was a teenager (12-14 years old), I spent quite a lot of time on the internet writing poems and sharing my poetry on forums. Now, these poems were probably frequently bad, but it didn’t matter – at the time when I was still only allowed on dial-up internet for half an hour each night (remember the days?!), it was the most important way for me to express my innermost thoughts and creativity, and read others’ as well. As I shared things that I had written, I made friends and ended up being invited to another forum where I would contribute regularly, and I also remember most of these people being quite Christian and I believe from the southern USA. At a time when I was still questioning my own beliefs as well as discovering my own sexuality, there were certain things I could talk about and others that I couldn’t, and from a place where I had been granted freedom of expression without judgement, I found myself (even at 15 years old) being careful about what I could and couldn’t say for fear of backlash from people I didn’t know that well and yet knew intimately. I didn’t stay on the forums for much longer after that (although I wrote poetry infrequently and headed up the St Anne’s Creative Writing Society with my friend Daria in my second year of university) because I could tell that I was headed on a different path to the other people on the forum, who were all adults and knew themselves already. I didn’t leave on bad terms, and I think that the forum fizzled out naturally shortly afterwards, but to think that for a substantial period of my teenage years this was one of my main hobbies, and yet now I barely remember it and it feels like I am looking at my adolescence backwards through a telescope. How far I have come is a very good thing, but it’s something that I can only really appreciate when I compare it to where I started from.

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wrong. (poem)

April 28, 2011

So after reading Ntozake Shange’s For Colored Girls Who Have Considered Suicide/When The Rainbow Is Enuf, I remembered all the poems I used to write. I was getting pretty good! And then, I focused on songwriting and forgot the joy of expressing myself in free verse. It used to be liberating, cathartic and thrilling. So this is the first poem I have written in a long time – I have promised myself that I am going to get back into writing poetry, and hopefully I will improve my skills again (I feel somewhat rusty and I am sure I will reread this and cringe!). But this poem is dedicated to myself and to anybody else (everybody else) who has ever felt this way – I hope you can all empathise.

wrong

i’m so tired of being wrong
it wears me down like a stone
i try and do right by myself and by you
but as long as i’m ok with me
that’s what matters

what do you get from pointing out my faults
does being right keep you warm at night
can you take your criticisms of me and sell them on the market
to put coins in your pocket?
if one-upping me gives you life
then i wish you had more to live for

because i’m so used to being wrong
i’m exhausted by it
and paranoid about it
sitting duck, easy target
feel like my default position
but
i’m so used to it
that i realised
i am no poorer for it

your yardstick does not measure my success
and for every small victory you claim
while you’re intent on keeping me down
i’m focusing my energy on keeping me up
afloat and moving
the days are hard enough to get through
without competing for the prize of gain-saying you
you can have all that
because: newsflash!
THERE IS NO PRIZE
my life is not for sale or accreditation

i’m working on being alright with me
and if you would rather be right
then i will choose to be all right
through my expertise in being wrong
i am learning to be strong