I was on a stage in Texas during a poetry competition the first time I openly discussed it. I had written a poem about it and I was asked to perform it in front of people. The poem wasn't finished. It still isn't finished, but I thought that talking about it as I worked on it would make the healing process easier. I felt my knees succumb to the thought that I was really going to talk about this into a microphone in front of 50 people. It wasn't frightening in the sense that I was afraid of performing a poem about a vulnerable moment in my life.
Performing poetry was normal to me, but telling the truth and performing poetry has always been anxiety inducing. I took a swallow of the dead air and just went for it. Words fell out of my mouth at such a speed that I nearly missed my own performance. In under 90 seconds, I had done it. I had talked about the last argument I had with my father openly. I was six and he just caught me in a lie. He brought me back to his bedroom to have a one on one lecture with me that turned to a back and forth. Sentences turned into disciplinary threats and soon thereafter, the last argument ended with me yelling, “I hate you. I hope you die.”
The words came tumbling out of my mouth like a short poem that I had memorized. I knew what I had said and I didn't at the very same time. I was still six years old. Weeks later, he passed away of a sudden heart attack. I never apologized. I never snatched my words back. That night, I learned that the words can hurt just a bit more than sticks and stones and that the word can act as an Uzi. Most importantly, I learned the value of a word. Moreover, I learned that the words mean things and very letter has impact. In many ways, that moment is the reason I am a writer. Furthermore, it’s the reason I write poetry. I get asked that question a lot, “Why do you write poetry? Why are you a journalism major?” I am a poet because that night or “it” as I referred to it earlier taught me the value of words. I am a journalism major because my purpose in life is to tell stories in the effort to effect change.
I find it easier to tell others stories, but therapeutic to tell my own. Above all else, I know that despite people's shortening attention spans, people's ability to relate through language, written or spoken, is the mechanism that can bring us closer or push us to our death. I know that I didn't kill my father, but I know that my words didn't help either. The words I speak and write have weight and can impact the emotions of those around me. I just hope I impact them positively.
