I wrote this piece over a long period during a time when writing felt especially challenging. At the time, I had been experiencing so many changes in my life that seemed to unfold much faster than I was able to process them all. In simpler terms, life was "lifeing". After some necessary introspection, I realized I was experiencing what many creative individuals face—writer’s block. However, my challenge wasn’t a lack of ideas, but rather difficulty articulating the intensity of my thoughts and emotions.
During seasons of my life when I am called to simply live and reflect before creating, I always make an intentional effort to show myself grace, remembering that I am still a creative even when I am not actively creating or sharing my art publicly. I am also reminded that my art is driven by my desire to find beauty in everything. This poem emphasizes the reality that art exists all around us and often serves as a tangible reflection of the artist who created it; which makes it so complex, subjective, and beautiful.
I performed this piece at the Stay Woke Event open mic in September while it was still a work in progress. I still wouldn't consider the version below to be “final” as I frequently revisit it to revise lines, add stanzas, or alter endings. It truly is an ironically artistic display of how art can exist at any stage of the creative process, a truth that makes me love this piece so much. I hope you enjoy this poem and the irony that lies within it all.
here lies all the poems i wrote
but never wrote down
every soliloquy that never received
it’s chance in the spotlight
each metaphor that never
made it to the final product
on the days when I’m forced to
write less and live more
when my pen seems to have
lost it’s sequence
on the nights when life rips
my heart out of my chest
leaves me cleaning up the mess
renders me speechless
as it laughs in my face
while i pick up the pieces
it is in those moments
where my most profound piece is
when the poems seem to write themselves
through the joy, the melancholy,
the pain and rage
for poetry goes far beyond
pleasant rhymes on a page
I’ve been known
to paint my face with tears
compose music through laughter
dance in the face of my fears
make the world my endless
muse to chase after
an artist’s work is never truly finished
so you simply cannot diminish this craft
to mere moments, as opposed to lifetimes
for this tone
entwines with family trees,
this cadence
transcends through bloodlines
so much beauty lies within the book of life
each chapter, every lesson,
each person and pain
every setback, step up
and necessary phase
for this craft reaches much further
than the spotlight on a stage
far deeper than the heart
if the artist feels too broken
to create passion from pain
are you still left with art?
or is she no longer exceptional for
running out of perfect metaphors
to pour out her heart?
in a world clouded by imitation
we often fail to realize
that the artist is in fact
a reflection of the art
without the other,
the one simply cannot survive
and I see it in everything
even when I close my eyes
for there is poetry in prayer
there are melodies in cries
abstraction in parked car conversations
interpretive dance in time
I just thank God for blessing me
with this passion of mine
for making a work in progress of me
even before my pen ever grazed a page
for giving me the gift of alchemy to transpose my rage
for allowing my ancestry to speak through me so my essence will remain
timeless with age
it is in the deepest part of my soul
that lives this yearn to create
see, when you’re a child of the creator,
the whole world is your stage
your body is a canvas for
you to dress and paint
each day is a new page
of your story to anticipate
and each breath that you take
is a statement of God’s grace
don’t you see?
your very existence is an art that
no one can duplicate
and i couldn’t write it if i tried
some rarities even poetry can’t illustrate
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