I write poetry. I make art. Either way is correct. I do not force myself to write; however, I wait. I wait for words to pop in my head. Just like an artist might sit in front of a canvas and wait for a picture to pop out, I go through my day with words speeding around my head, ready to be used in a way that can touch people and relate to the everyday person.

In my first poem, I used the normal romance theme that most people tend to start with when writing any type of poetry. It was all so cliché, but any good writer starts at the basics, right?

Writing poetry freshman year of high school, I never expected to think of it so highly in my life. Actually, I hated poetry when I was in middle school and part of my high school career. The difficulty of most poetry made me turn away with disgust. I never appreciated the art as a whole.

Yet, I went from writing four poems one year to 13 the next. I could finally understand why people loved to write poetry so much. There was something fulfilling about taking out a piece of paper and writing down my thoughts. Though, simply putting down the words in my head was not enough for me. For me, it was necessary to place these words in an orderly matter, in a way that no other person would do. Being creative became a part of being me.

I was still young when 9/11 happened, but I do remember the day. I was four and at my grandparents house. All I can really recollect is my grandparents watching the news and my dad running into the house, yelling, “Why are you letting her watch this?” I did not understand why he cared so much.

Now, I do. I know about the loss of so many people. When I think about this day, I cannot grasp why it even happened. Why would someone attack people who are innocent? Even if they live in a country you hate, is it really their fault?

I wrote a poem for all the people who were affected by this tragedy. “Red Gray and Blue” was written for the ones we lost to something so unpredictable. “Red Gray and Blue” is for everyone, all the citizens who say that they are even the slightest patriotic. I still may not be able to comprehend 9/11, but writing this poem helped me put down what I do know about the terrible day in American history. Also, I hope that I can help even one person see a small part of what happened that day beneath the towers.

Poetry has flourished into one of the most important pastimes in my life. There have been times when I have felt of no worth, but the pen and paper in front of me has become my psychiatrist. The constraining thoughts in my mind can be left spilled out onto the paper, never to be welcomed back. Also, with poetry, I am able to express how I feel about a subject without worrying about what other people will say because I let the words do the speaking.