For as long as I can remember, writing has been a passion of mine. In grade school, I remember the excitement I felt when a writing project was assigned. While many of my classmates groaned in disapproval, I started imagining the possibilities. I still have a box in the basement filled with writing from my early years. This says A LOT about the depth of my passion, as I am not a hoarder. My motto has always been “if in doubt, throw it out”. The fact that these projects are not in a landfill? Well, that is saying something.
Among my prized collections I cannot bear to part with:
* an ABC book from kindergarten ( I totally rocked in printing…picture drawing not so much)
*a report on Betsy Ross from 5th grade (mixed feelings on this one…my teacher made a correction using a red pen…I’m obviously not past this yet…it did however, fit with the red,white and blue theme as I had used a blue pen myself and the paper was white)
* a descriptive report on Candyland, the town I had created to demonstrate my knowledge of 8th grade social study skills (not so sure I learned anything, but I had a blast creating my model town out of real candy)
*a research paper on Runaways from 10th grade (this was from the era of checking out books from the library and recording information on notecards)
*a literary analysis on The Sound and the Fury (I am actually quite impressed with this…not sure I could do as well today)
And then, there is my rose colored floral journal I keep tucked away in my nightstand, filled with poems from my high school days. I use to love writing poems, as the act of putting my thoughts into words provided both the opportunity to release my feelings on paper AND use my brain to figure out rhyme and structure. In hindsight, they served as a form of therapy.
I hope to start writing poems again soon. But this time, I hope to focus on all that’s good in life.
I thought I would share a poem I wrote when I was 14 years old. I’m finding it still holds true for me today.
deep inside of me
tells me who I am.
But something else
holds it back
like water before a dam.
I have tried
so very hard,
to let this something be free.
But what if
who I am
isn’t what others want to see?