Twitter, My New Poetry

When I was an innocent teenager (pause for laughter) and a boy wronged me or righted me (I know that word is highly incorrect and very rarely had a boy ‘righted’ me) I would pick up my pen and journal and write a poem. I am not claiming to be a Sylvia Plath (my poems were never as good or as emo), it will be a compliment to even be likened to Emma Robert’s whiney character in Unfabulous (yes, I watched Unfabulous and I’m unashamed) but poetry was an out for me to express my feelings in a way that wasn’t as public as talking or as open and descriptive as journaling.

Over the last few months, the amount of poems I have written has declined immensely, this could because I have not been hurt enough in order to passionately express in poetry, but rather oddly I am now sitting on 4097 tweets. The sad thing is that life has became too fast-paced for me to wait to get home to get my favourite leather-bound journal in order to gush about my day, I need to describe it 140 characters or less, attempting to maintain the cryptic, ambiguous and mysterious tone I had with my terrible dramatic poetry. So in many ways I would like to think that I’ve grown out of lines like “Then he looked at me/And everything around me faded away” (Bleugh! Eew! Shut up!) but I know that all that has changed is the medium that I use. I still give in tweeting things like “Interested to see once all the excuses have lapsed” which noone who follows me would understand.

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How I Know I Am Me

Excuse the very silly title, this is an essay I wrote for a job application. Posted here because I’m too lazy to write an original post now:

Shattered glass covers the floor as she looks at the blood flowing down her hand. The pain doesn’t feel real, it seems too theatrical to be part of the life of an ordinary girl. She reaches for the bandage that she had readily waiting and clothed her naked bloodstained hand in the skilled way she had practiced. While she walks over to her bed, which has become her solace in last few weeks, she feels the eyes of the photographs on the wall staring her down. The smiles that so many times used to comfort her now seem posed and fake, a cover-up for people’s true feelings.

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I Will Wait For You – Janette Ikz

I came across this spoken word poem by Janette Ikz last week when I was doing research for a talk I’m doing at my youth group about waiting for the right guy.

This poem showed me how wrong I have been doing things. And how important it is to wait for the right one instead of wasting your time with those that are just going to break your heart. Or in my case, God probably had someone in mind for me who likes me back (that might be a hint).