At the Seeds of Peace International Camp the past few days, I have been helping to lead a Slam Poetry special activity for six campers. We freewrite and share and even perform each other's work. Sometimes we work off of prompts; other writings are unguided. This is the rough product from one such prompt: "What makes your life your life?" Revising, perhaps, to come.
My father is colorblind.
Reds and greens blend with browns and grays
and his teacher noticed in lower school
when he drew a landscape that was particularly...artistic.
I can live with seeing differently from most people.
This means I have thoughts to contribute.
And I can live with my life being mine
because it gives the world soul another place
to store a fragment
a shard whose glimmer meets with experiences
and times of beauty and sadness.
But I fear to be alone in me
and in my life
to know the uniqueness
that keeps me apart
no matter how long I stay in the arms of someone
to whom I am dear.
I remember a time
when I danced in the street
full of other people's observations
about myself.
I danced as a joyous, glorious woman
whose main gift to the world
was happiness.
And I thought, if I am so happy,
I must not live a long life.
And that night I took some comfort
with another human being
whose presence surrounded
but did not unify with mine
and I made it be enough.
No comments:
Post a Comment