When the first draft of my poem was handed back to me, I felt as if my breath had been stolen. All I could see were markings over what I had thought was an extremely powerful poem. It didn't matter that the majority of what my teacher had written were compliments, it mattered that I had laid it all on the line--and it was rejected. As the frustration with my inability to express what I was thinking boiled over, so did my patience. "I can't write this poem. It simply isn't ready to be written" I told my English teacher. "Okay, fair enough. But I'd like you to try anyway" he calmly replied.
As the war with my poem raged on, I started seeing the world a little differently. In a poem, you have a few stanzas to sell you, your heart, soul and story to the reader. In life, we rarely open ourselves up that easily and openly, yet in a poem, you can't help but let your emotions dance across a page. It was on my second to last draft that I realized a rather hard truth--my poem will never be perfect. My poem will always have room for improvement, and it was once I realized this that I was able to write the last, beautiful draft of my poem.
My poem isn't the best or the worst. It's not the funniest or the dullest. But you know the one thing that it is? Me. It's not words on a page, it's Toby on a page, and for the first time in a while. . .I'm okay with what I'm reading.
Wow. Twenty-seven drafts is a lot of effort, and I can see how passionate you must have been about finishing what you started. I know how hard it is to be rejected about something that is personal and powerful to you. And I also know how easy it is to give up. But you and I both know it feels so much better to keep going, keep pushing, and show off to everyone that “hey, I’m awesome and I can do this.”
ReplyDeletePutting yourself on paper and out for the world to see takes some guts. I hope one day I can read this powerful poem you wrote. Stay strong beautiful.