I'm taking Creative Writing in school this semester. Since class began, we've covered everything from personal narratives to tall tales to, finally, poetry. We read a variety of poetry, and then came the writing assignments.
I remembered the file hiding on my computer with poems I've written before, and I was curious to read them after nearly forgetting they existed. I found a piece called "Keyboard," and I went back through and made a few minor edits to it. I don't usually share my narrative writing on this blog. Rather, it's personal writing. I've certainly never shared poetry. There's a first time for everything, though, and I happened to be quite proud of this poem when I stumbled upon it last week. So, without further ado, here's "Keyboard."
When I type, nothing is impossible.
When I type, despair turns into hope.
When I type, I start off slow, crawling along,
But I never give up.
The crawling turns to a slow walk, and then, suddenly,
I’m running.
My fingers are flying across the keyboard, reminding me of spiders.
Whether it’s the speed or the fact that I’m building a web of words,
I’m not sure. All I know is that it makes me feel like me.
It makes me feel strong, and alive, and inventive;
It makes me feel confident in what I am capable of.
I don’t always have the right words. I rarely start off knowing what to say.
But as I begin to reconnect with the keyboard,
And my thoughts,
And my crudely concealed creativity,
I am able to find those words.
I dig them from the depths of me, where they were placed lovingly
Before I even knew what the words themselves meant.
I find them, dust them off.
I kiss them, place them on the page.
I send my heart out into the world for everyone to see.
My little web grows and grows and grows.
And when a new day comes, and my fingers begin slowly,
It serves as a reminder. A reminder that
what is hard now will come easy with time, when the words are uncovered.
And so I begin a new web, a new story, and give up more and more of my heart.
Why do I do so? It isn’t easy.
No, it hurts. It makes my mind want to shut itself off,
Prevent me from ever sharing its ideas again.
But I continue on, because writing is in my programing.
Writing was given to me as a gift, my great purpose in this life.
It was given to me in a way that I need it like air.
And so I begin again, typing out my heart,
Because it is the only thing keeping me alive.