Hello, My Name Is Hannah

You want to know Why I rhyme Why I say the words aloud To a beat no one else can find And why in the world I’m frustrated all the time. Why am I a poet? Why? The reason is that- Or, rather, it just happens to be that- I can’t communicate any other way. The words that flow from my eager lips Do not sound the same And poetry may not be the best vice- To kids today It may be stupid and lame- But it’s the only thing I’ve got. And even if nobody hears, I gotta get this out! Poetry is my only orifice! It’s the spout That drains me of all these emotions! Building up, filling seas! Filling Oceans upon oceans So vast and wide a cannot count The sum of my numbers. Maybe that’s why I’m no good at math… But, let’s get back on track. I remember my first poem- The first rhyme I read- As if it were yesterday. As if it were Only a day away In my numerous, subtle plays Of the memory and the mind. When I read it I felt alive. I said: God, this is good! God, you created the verse, and God, is it good! The simple phrase of poetry, It melted off my tongue Finally, an infinite world In which I could express just my feelings And not feel obliged Or deprived To other people’s feedback. I kept it all to myself In a sketchbook on my shelf Copy-pasted anger issues, overwhelming Greif and pain and taped-down accolades That pent up the thing called rage. My own personal diary. A way for me to say: Why is the world like this?! Why can’t all these millions of people see The things I care about most, the things that matter most, And what they mean to me!! This is only the eighth poem I’ve ever shared Of my hundreds. I have hundreds. Not because of my secrets. I’m not afraid of those. But, I’m dreadfully, frightfully scared That the same people who inspired my poetry, My writing, My endless, unheard wailing. Will reappear and tell me: “You’re no good. You’re worthless! Why do you try So hard? You might as well just die, Because nothing you ever make Will serve a good sake Or a purpose or a service. What’s a lake full of feelings?! And what’s it gonna do To change the world and rid it of people That think like me and you.” Me and You? Me and You? Why do you compare me to you and You to me. We are different. WE ARE NOT THE SAME. I’ve decided now That they cannot and will not Change me. Try and change me. Thank You, God, for giving me the gifts that I needed so desperately To get through a day To get through the months To pass another birthday, unscathed by harmful comments And thank you Roethke and Rilke And my dear friend Frost And Poe and Crane And Longfellow You elder scribes, The ones who have died, Unknown and alone, And the ones who have inspired me To write.