I was a Junior in high school,

In my second semester.

I was taking 2 AP classes, Algebra 2, French 2 and two other “easy” classes.

Needless to say it was the hardest thing I had ever done.

And I did mission trips in Mexico when I was younger.

Digging trenches was nothing compared to that year.

I was in the library and we were talking my English class

About what we would be good for in our lives

AKA our future jobs.

I was so fickle with my future that I had a million “backup” plans.

I got home that day after a really hard day and I needed something to make me happy.

And my friend sent me a poem.

“Instructions for a bad day”

Shane Kozack.

That spoken poem sent me on a 4 hour search,

Forgetting about any homework I had.

I decided then and there that I would do slam poetry.

And I was right.

But the first few months were heaven,

And then hell.

I substituted music for poems

I subscribed to Button Poetry and played it on repeat

I wrote poems instead of notes,

And thought in a rhythm.

When studying for my AP US History tests I read my notes like a poem

But then I hit a snag.

I tried to be other poets,

I tried to be them instead of me

And it hurt.

I thought sometimes that because not all of my poems were vapid

That they didn’t mean anything.

So I stopped writing.

I stopped doing much of anything.

I went back to “regular” poetry.

But I started to realize that anything I wrote only sounded right

When read out loud.

I never could rhyme very well,

And sonnets felt like hell.

(See what I did there?)

So I gave it anouther try.

Senior Year,

I did my AP Euro homework in a rhythm.

I drained my phone battery watching slams during my TA period.

I let words fly out of my fingertips and passed them to my friend

Next to me in English.

And she called me a prodigy.

But I knew it wasn’t good enough

SO I kept writing

And anytime something hurt

Or tore,

Or made me uncomfortable,

I wrote.

I stopped whatever I was doing,

And teachers thought i was taking fervorous notes

When really,

I wasn’t even in their world.

I was no longer afraid to fly,

Not hiding in the ashes and shadows anymore.

I wasn’t like Ollie, or Shane, or even the younger Mariah.

I was a new person.

A poet,

A phoenix.

Born from ashes, and oh so cliche.

But it was true.

So boys, and girls, watch out.

Taylor Swift writes songs,

But I write poems.

And I have the advantage,

Of not having to rhyme.