In honor of National Poetry Day! I’d like to step back with you and share a little bit of what brought me here. If you’re here, thanks for stopping by to read!
“I Am A Writer” has become sort of a new mantra for me, and this is because I’ve always been a writer, but I never allowed the writer in me to write publicly.
Fear is a powerful motivator.
I’ve been writing stories since I was around 8 years old. These words were kept to myself, locked tight between eraser-torn notebook pages in a black Trapper-Keeper. As a child, these words were a home to me in a house that wasn’t. They were safe and stable when my surroundings told a different tale. As I grew I found my faith in God at a summer camp and began writing poetry. This too, was something I kept to myself where it was safe from critique.
Fear is a powerful motivator.
“Who’s gonna read about faith, hope, addiction, and recovery?”
“Who’s gonna read my words about faith, hope, addiction, and recovery?”
But the words continued to leak out of me, filling the covers of an old brown journal I would carry with me everywhere I went.
I continued writing through highschool, and so did the coming-of-age stories and poems. We lost a student in 2005, who was bullied for his appearance, and I wrote a poem titled “Last Word” that sparked a personal mission to speak out against suicide and life-controlling issues. I hid the poem for years until reciting it at an open mic in Missouri.
The sticky summer air didn’t bother all the venue residents who were snapping rhythmically at modern beatniks preaching into a cheap mic. The coffee shop smelled of warm beans and warmer beer as teens and adults packed in to listen to these passionate poets.
These poets were GOOD— very good. They had obviously practiced their material before and this wasn’t your Baptist grandma’s open mic venue.
But there I was, your “Baptist Grandma.” Nothing about me spoke "writer” or “story teller”… or poet, but that night I recited that poem with broken conviction. I’ll spare you the outcome, but I can tell you this: Art has a peculiar way of intersecting circles and changing lives that we otherwise may be less inclined to invade.
Fear can be overcome.
In 2017-2019 I published my first full-length collection (Bravery & Brevity) and a poetic devotional filled with poetry (Fingerprints of Love & War) I had written a decade prior. I would’ve published sooner but was (you guessed it) too afraid to share poetry with the world.
I am learning that writing is not about hiding or being safe or flawless. It is, quite frankly the opposite.
I am learning that writing can be vulnerable, raw, visceral, and emotional.
I am learning that writing is about community and seeing hearts open up over an open mic.
I am learning to continue speaking and making mistakes and forgetting to sleep, but at least I am learning.
I am learning through new friends, and found family that fear never held the pen…
and I have a new story to tell.
I want you to keep writing too. I want you to write when you feel safe and when you don’t. I want you to speak when your heart is in your throat and your words are failing.
I want you to tell your story— all the awful, cringeworthy, and ugly parts.
I want you to keep writing.
I wrote this next poem as a declaration that fear doesn’t have the final say.
“You kept me from making choices that could change my life.
Froze my feet firmly so I couldn’t walk right.
Locked my lips so I couldn’t testify.
Too terrified to talk about truth, so instead I lie.”
Sincerely, your Baptist Grandma a writer.
I hope to read more at open mics! Thanks for sharing your insights. 🙏🏻
Man, feels like I’m so late to the writing party…