On The High Note…

Today will be a post about something good…because I actually feel half way decent for the first time in days. I managed to not sleep my day away which is an excellent change of pace. I tackled the kitchen and continued my laundry battle. In all I’ve accomplished at least 75% of what I wanted to; thought it wasn’t everything…considering how defunct I’ve been the last few weeks I’ll take anything as an accomplishment these days.

I’ve still been procrastinating when it comes to putting this collection of poetry together for a book. I think the idea of publishing something with just MY work is a bit daunting. It’s different when I’m blogging; I write whatever and generally give no fucks about the audience reception. Blogging is just my space to be creative in whatever way I choose to be… My Poetry Blog has been building for 3 years. It was a safe space for me to be artistic and practice freedom…and 3 years later it is still that for me. I suppose the idea of putting all or at least a lot of my poetry into one compilation to be sold…feels…clandestine.

And ok maybe I’m being a bit theatrical…but what can I say I’m a writer for Bob’s sake. Putting a price tag on it almost puts this pressure….for people to like what I’ve made enough to buy it. What if the people don’t buy? Will it somehow reveal that I’m not as good as a writer as I’ve convinced myself I am over the last 20 years? Poetry often feels like an obsolete art…at least in contrast to how it used to be. When I was in school literary greats were stressed to us; from Edgar Allen Poe, Sylvia Plath, Phyllis Wheatley, Langston Hughes, Robert Frost… POETRY was spoon fed to me from the time I could read.

So I guess these days as a writer..a creator..a woman of color at that…a lot of times I feel like folks have this perception of what type of poet I should be. They expect diatribe about my plight as a woman…they want my sass…my tell it like it is…my “keepin’ it 100″…and when they read my work and that’s not what I deliver… I feel as if I’m penalized about it..by my peers…by other writers…even some of my friends. They are disappointed in my choice of words and my cadence…hell even my delivery. I’ve even been told I “write white”. The first year and a half of my blog I kept my self anonymous; never gave any indication as to my ethnicity. Once I revealed myself to be a portly black woman…the response changed. Writers who had once “adored” my style found themselves offering unsolicited advice…encouraging me to “tap into my black side”. Ignorance like this is what made me suppress this creative side of myself the first 18 years of my life while growing up in New Haven, CT.

I find myself feeling resentful in a moment where I should be elated… I’m going to be published in my first anthology this year… I will be coming with my first book this year independently…as a writer…at 29… I could be doing so much worse. I’ve been blogging in some capacity since 2006…writing is probably the ONLY thing in my life that I’ve committed to since the age of 8. I gotta celebrate that…I gotta feel good about that. A midst all the muck and mire that is my tattered and chaotic emotionally turbulent existence I call my life; there is a little polished gem that’s cracked the surface of my soul and it’s shining.

Leaving on the high note folks….



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