This is in response to a private message I received concerning a poem I had shared on a poetry forum:
For me poetry is art. Think of a musician writing a song or a painter working on a canvas. Yes, there are some works where the meaning is clear, but much more where the meaning is left to interpretation. And that is the beauty in art. My work is not so abstract, though as to purposely push my reader to scratch his head. It is a reflection of that jigsaw puzzle of thoughts inside my mind. I intend to put particular words together, because they truly mean something to me- something I have experienced and wish to paint or sing that experience onto paper.
I write mostly about inner turmoil and spiritual battles. It is me sharing who I am with whoever bothers to listen to my voice. There are some things that people just don’t talk about – ever. So I write it, because I have a need to let it out. If someone doesn’t ‘get it,’ is beside the point for me. A part of my work is story-telling poems, but the others, are a real (not abstract) expression of my identity and very personal. I share it, because it is beautiful to me. And if anyone can feel my song even if they don’t know what the words mean to me, they can create meaning for themselves, much like how songs and paintings also have the same effect. There are some songs that have crappy lyrics, but the melody is superb and means so much that it makes one want to dance. Hopefully, you get what I am saying here.
Most of my poetry can fit into three categories: dark, sensual, spiritual. I have much more than what I post on Your Poetry Dot Com. This is just something fun, because I don’t personally know any poets. I have been writing since I was eight, and it is the only place I feel comfortable being me. Sad, but true.
So I will leave you with three last thoughts. 1- Again, no offense taken. I appreciate your honesty and hope that my poems will give meaning to your mind one day. If not, that is ok too, because we can still appreciate and respect each other for the artists we are. I know the time it takes to create a poem.
2-Here is my explanation of Wearied Wearer:
I have masks that I wear. I am ‘beautiful’ (have been told my whole life) and hate people looking at me. I am very goofy, but reluctant to show that side of me, because I have been conditioned to look good and proper my whole life. I have met someone who I can just be me around finally at 30 years old. But opening up and risking heartache is nerve wracking. When I go back and forth between letting walls down and bringing them back up again, I cause my inner turmoil to have a very negative effect on the person I care deeply for. My insecurities cause him to be insecure, thus causing strife in the relationship. So instead of just coming out and saying that when it is no one’s business anyhow, the artist in me begins to write her song and pen her emotions to the beat known as me.
It’s a lot prettier poetically, huh?
I found this definition of poetry that I love from http://contemporarylit.about.com/od/poetry/a/poetry.htm:
Don't do this. Don't shackle poetry with your definitions. Poetry is not a frail and cerebral old woman, you know. Poetry is stronger than you think. Poetry is imagination and will break those chains faster than you can say "Harlem Renaissance."
To borrow a phrase, poetry is a riddle wrapped in an enigma swathed in a cardigan sweater or something like that. It doesn't like your definitions and will shirk them at every turn. If you really want to know what poetry is, read it. Read it carefully. Pay attention. Read it out loud. Now read it again.
There's your definition of poetry. Because defining poetry is like grasping at the wind - once you catch it, it's no longer wind.
Oh yeah, my work is better if read aloud too by the way!
Now just read the poem:
Wearied Wearer
Make him quiet Let him remain, that violent tiger Who strives to cause pain Sick him on the deserving And not on me You say no to slavery But no when I open up So what are you afraid of If my voice be heard? Is my off-tune key not the right one for your soul Be honest with me, be true to your love Do you like my special occasion so much That every moment is expected to be special? In reality I wear a normal mask That he is displeased with I do not want to please you with some fake self I give you my best and worst Can you be my specialist? Who will clean my masks when they become dirty Or are you just an admirer who is tired of wearing his mask?
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