It started with a 50 minute class 

I found bliss in putting my frantic thoughts into words 

All of my incomplete thoughts somehow perfectly synched and flowed right onto the page 

 

It started with a 50 minute class 

But that class did not put those ideas in my head 

This incredibly sinister world 

Along with the anxious, self-belittling assumptions of my own did 

 

I soon couldn't get enough 

Poetry slam videos of female empowerment 

Youth standing up for racial injustices, the LGBT community 

Describing horrific, yet relatable anxiety and depression stories 

Chills ran through my body with every word spoken 

I wanted to make that same impact on others 

 

That 50 minute class 

It was never really about the grade 

It was about the experience 

The rush I get with every line I write 

The calming sensation that has the power to stop panic attacks and breakdowns 

The tears in others' eyes when they read my work 

The way the flow can heal any wound 

Patch up any broken past 

Save any life 

 

Being a poet is not being depressing, or snapping fingers at a poetry slam 

It's the words that move people to open their minds and feel the emotions of others 

 

So that 50 minute class  

Taught me more about myself and others than I ever gave school credit for 

It opened doors of optimism and creative insight to life itself 

That class and those videos 

Were the missing piece to my puzzle