I say choosing rather than writing because I started writing years ago. That’s not to say that I have nothing new, but I really want my first book ever to be a compilation of the poetry I’ve written over the years. Specifically, poetry from my teenage years (see the first post about leaning into the discomfort 😅). A friend of mine recently posted a meme that basically joked that if he had to choose between death and having someone share the fiction he wrote in high school, he’d choose death. I chuckled (I remember his stories), but it got me thinking about the way our views change as we get older.
Let’s be honest, the things we wrote, and said, and thought in high school were real to us. Whether right or wrong or highly overblown, they were legitimate feelings and opinions. I find that as my friends and family get further away from that point in our lives we belittle the feelings of those younger than us. We are the adults now, it’s as if a switch clicked and rose coloured glasses magically fell over our memories of that point in our lives. Maybe I haven’t grown up as much I should have, or maybe it’s because I try to listen to my younger cousins and nieces and nephews in ways that their parents don’t, usually through no fault of their own, and try to relate to their issues and feelings but my rose coloured glasses don’t erase my memories of being that age. I give advice, and I listen, because I remember being an angsty teen, with angsty friends, and having everyone tell me it’s not that serious, and it will all pass, and that’s not how it felt EVER. I remember the tears and the fights and the drama that swirled around my own friends who now tell their own younger relatives the same advice we got that made us feel as if we weren’t being listened to or cared about and were all alone in the world in our teenage angst and issues.
I say all of that to say that I wrote a lot of poetry in high school, and college, and continued into young adulthood. Some of it about me, lots of it about the situations in my social circles. Poetry about my friends that I’m sure they would read now and not recognise themselves in it. I want to share that with the world for multiple reasons, the strongest being I won’t deny that part of my life, or it’s impact on me as a writer and my emotional growth and self expression. I also remember that writing was my escape, it was cathartic and helped me work through a lot of deep shit, and if sharing my thoughts can be helpful to someone else, no matter their age then I’ll share them. Sometimes you just want to know that you’re not alone, that out there in the ether is someone else that’s screaming into nothingness, and all that anyone ever wants to be is heard.
I Wrote A Thing 