Far too many writers never get their thoughts down on paper. I am one of the lucky few who was given the opportunity to take a writing class that changed that. Of course, I wrote before, little short stories here and there that were never given an ending. A whole lot of beginnings in a 40 page long document on google that is shared with no one. I never even read them again after writing them, they just sit in the graveyard. I’m sure that if I had revisited them, it would have been ramblings and memories randomly on my mind in the middle of the night. People I thought about often, moments I wish I could return to, places I wish I could run to. For the most part, that’s what writing was for me. In History class we learn about the first known records of writing, they used it to record events in time to never be forgotten, to pass on to generations beyond them. But now, we use writing for our grocery lists. Ancient civilizations knew they were mortal, but writing isn’t. Writing lives forever unless destroyed.
Music is a large part of my life, and most of my poetry is based off of a song that I was really into at the time. Such is the case with my poem “Only Our Eyes Can See” at the end of this post. Inspired by Flatsound’s song Hands, which is a spoken poetry song, I was struck with the idea. I’m a very affectionate and hopeless romantic type of person; other people are very important to me and I need meaningful relationships. This poem represents that idea of taking time out of your life to appreciate somebody you love. It doesn’t have to be a lover, it could be a best friend or a family member. What ever the case, I really think this poem is a deep part of me that I want to share with everyone. I hope you may have found some love here, we all need it.
My mom has been a huge inspiration for me, she has been the perfect role model. I’m thankful for her constant support with all types of English, fixing my many grammar mistakes when google docs couldn’t in short stories and essays.
Only Our Eyes Can See
A lot can be learned
by watching someones eyes
collect the room around them, the
dust, the light, personal belongings, just… things.
Even if you aren’t looking, not really.
Forgive me but I
how long has it been since you’ve looked at a person? An
in-depth inspection of all that they are.
Just like this room, look into their eyes and devour them
Keep their secrets and don’t
let them out because the
minute someone trusts you enough to
not look away
once they get scared,
pulling away nervously with their lips
quivering in fear, unwilling to be so vulnerable.
Right in that moment, two become one.
Stronger than any hero yet more fragile
than a thin strip of ice.
Ultimately, sometime in your
very busy schedule and your complicated mind I wonder
where I could fit in, if I could read right through you. Take an
X-ray of your heart and hope
you don’t run like a wounded
Zebra from a lion.