When I was in the third grade,

My teacher told our class to write a poem.

 

This wasn’t a good idea.

 

Our knowledge of poetry was limited to Dr. Seuss rhymes,

Illustrated anthologies locked in Mother’s bookshelves.

It was a lot like giving a kindergartener a paintbrush

Then telling them to go paint the Mona Lisa.

We didn’t know where to start.

That particular poem wasn’t amazing,

And I knew deep down that I would never be a poet.

 

But the years kept coming,

Day and night

And I was assigned

More to write

And gradually,

Kicking and screaming,

Almost as if

I was dreaming

I learned what made a poem

A poem.

 

I learned how to write one well

And I learned that rhymes don’t magically make things stronger.

I learned poetry is more than words splattered on a paper to get a grade.

 

I learned that in a poem,

The words that are left unsaid

Are the words that say the most.

I learned poems are like onions -

The closer you look, the more layers you see

And I learned that just like onions,

The best poems are the ones that,

If you dare to look deep enough,

 Are so strong they make you cry.

 

It’s not that I want to make people cry.

But I really like onions.

And poems cut through the clutter of sentences

To the vivid pictures

Where you’re free to create your own story.

 

And I want to create my own story.

 

The human mind looks for patterns.

And one day, I looked outside and I saw a bubble,

And I thought, ‘Wow, it’s so shiny, so self-confident,

But give it a bit of pressure and it explodes in your hand’

And then I thought, ‘Wow, that’s like a lot of people.’

And voila, a poem was born.

 

Now, sometimes, my poems are like words splattered on a page.

But like a Jackson Pollock, every word has a purpose

I may never write the Mona Lisa,

But I can still create art.

I can create something worth seeing.

I can create something worth doing.

 

And this is why I write.