The Silence Says it All

July 31, 2008
Roses are red, violets are blue, and do I have a story for you. Words can roll off the tongue, and off the paper. They can define who we are, and what we’ll become. When it comes to poetry though, it is a lost art to the average teen. But with the scribbling of a pen, words can make an impact on the person you thought you were, and it can leave scriptures on your soul. They can leave scars on your heart, and make you spiral into someone you’re not. Words are the revolution of personality. Words are who you are.
Change would begin one day back in the eighth grade. The class just took a seat when the bell rang for fourth period. I slumped in my seat as I tried to prepare myself for what I thought was supposed to be another boring class of English. I readied my text book, waiting for Mrs. Simon to tell us the page number to open to, but instead, I saw her holding a stack of paper. She passed them out to everyone, and said, “Ok guys, today we are starting a new unit. The unit is on-“I didn’t pay attention to the rest of the sentence, because by looking down at the paper, I could already tell what it was on. Poetry.

I heard a small groan come from someone in the room, and I could tell from the others faces that they were not going to like this unit either, nor would I. She told us to look at the paper she gave to us. I looked down and saw that it was a lyrics sheet. The song was “Eve of Destruction”, by Barry McGuire. We were told to read through it, and tell her what we thought of it. I looked through it all, and discovered the lyrics to be very intense and meaningful, but I still didn’t think much of poems. I even started to doodle on the sheet of lyrics, almost insulting Barry. Finally, after what seemed like ages, Mrs. Simon said, “What the singer was trying to say was the down side to war and socialism, which means he was stating his opinion.” I didn’t pay much attention towards her, but the next thing I heard was what got my attention, “The assignment is to write a poem. Pure and simple” My eyes lit up. I couldn’t describe why, but they did.
While everyone else was talking to their friends, I was sitting back with a blank page and a pencil. I was trying to think of a topic, when Marty Wessels walked up to me. He asked, “What are you up to AJ?” Well, I wasn’t about to tell him I was working on the poem, at least, no in a serious tone. So I replied, “Just writing a poem Marty.” Then he just had to ask, “About what?” “Um..,” I tried to think of something completely random, then I got it, “Chuck Norris!” He laughed an asked to see it. “Come back in 5 minutes.” And that was what one of my first poems was on; Chuck Norris.

After that, I discovered it was actually fun to write. During activity period, I sat myself in the corner desk and started writing whatever was on my mind: war, drama, sometimes love. I started from the beginning of AP, and by the time I looked up to see the time, it was already five minutes till the end of class. Time goes by fast when you express yourself. I was getting great grades on all my poems (I didn’t turn in the Chuck Norris one, that would be plain dumb.)
Then, summer came along, and somewhere along the way, I dropped the pen and forgot all about poems. But it would soon catch up with me. I was stuck at play practice for another 2 hours. I was sitting on the bench waiting for my scene to come up. The problem was, it wouldn't be for another five scenes. As I sat there, almost asleep, I decided to prevent the boredom by opening one of my old notebooks. I opened the notebook and read what was between the covers, and as I scanned it, I noticed a stanza. Flipping back the page, I saw that it was one of my old poems, left unfinished. So, I took out a pen and finished it quickly. I read it, then, it hit me. This is really fun. From that day until November, on the very last practice, I picked up the old habit of writing poems. I can even recall a couple of times were I missed my cue during practice, but I laugh at that now. Soon, I discovered I had a knack for this writing stuff.

But, I also discovered the most painful part about poems, and that is a little thing called love.
Early in the discovery of my talent, I began to remember something else I had forgotten. Her name, I won't say, but she was the one girl I liked. She was different than the other girls. She wasn't stuck up, mean, or snooty. She was just, great. And I just so happened to have a crush on her. I wanted to go out with her, but was too shy to ask. So, I came up with a plan. I opened my notebook and poured all my emotions onto one piece of paper. It was impossible to do it on just one, but I managed to do it. I write one of my greatest poems that day, and I was confedient my idea would work.
The next day, I stuck my feelings in a white envolope, and went to school early that day. When I got there, the halls were empty, and the clock struck 7:00 AM. I walked down the lonesome hall, checking to make sure no one was there (even though I knew there wasn't), I slipped the hope into her locker, and waited. An hour later, I was standing my my locker, close to her's, and discovered she found it, but, she was showing her friends. Strike one. Then the friends were trying to guess who it was. Strike two. Then, she said, "I am just scared to find out who it is." Strike three, my soul is out of here. I walked away. I went home and went on the internet, heartbroken. I saw that I had a new message. I checked to see who it was from, it was from her.

I didn't dare try to open it, but sooner or later, I had to. When I worked up the guts to see what it said, I nearly melted because of the five words: I know it was you. I broke down, almost cried, she messaged me back saying she loved it, but she didn't want a relationship. We talked for an hour, all about the poem. She said we can be friends, and now, she is my best friend. Although I was happy, depression started to kick in.
This was known as the time of the Dark Poems. You may be asking yourself, how can a freshman in high school be depressed. The simple answer is, envy. After the locker poem, I thought about love for quite sometime. Couples, girlfriends, and it got me thinking, why can't I have a taste. This would lead me into a road I didn't want to pass. Soon, I envied all of the couples I seen and the kisses they shared, the way they locked their arms around each other, and the pure thought of, "I'm loved." I was totally anti-love. Everynight, I opend the notebook and scribbled down the words of a lonely soul and his thoughts. To me, there was no love, only lies. It was what all the couples were doing, and I didn't have the strength to do that to someone, but since that was the only way to make it, I decided, I can not be loved.

On Valentine's day, I walked down the halls and seen all of the liers kissing and holding hands, it pierced my soul. I avoided my friends, including the locker poem girl, and refused to talk to anyone. Whenever I had to be social, (speech for example), I faked a smile then went straight home. There was no hope for this poet. Until one day, someone changed that.
Her name was Alli, a girl I only knew from Speech, and from the vast world of the internet. One day, she stumbled upon one of the poems I had written, and said, "Wow, that was awesome." I thought to myself, this could be the one chance to help me, so I took the chance. I began talking to her and sharing my poems, recieving praise and glory from them all. A weird feeling was coming back to me, something I couldn't remember having. I thought I had lost it after too many failed attempts at life. That feeling, was pride. Thanks to her, my depression, my surpression, ended, and I began to love life, and be myself again. The Dark Poems were over.
The dawning of a new era rose to me. The Recovery. I'm still in this era, but this one has treated me with pride. The last five months had been dark, cruel, and unforgiving, and now was the time to set things right again. As soon as Allison started to read all my poems, I opened a whole new notebook, and wrote about the good in life and the enjoyment of living.

During the writing of these poems, I had started to talk to people again. I would make jokes, talk about school, and even hang out with new people and get myself out there. No more of me sitting in the dark corner of the room, with the only sound I would make being an almost silent sob, and the moving of the pen. I even started talking to my old crush. I wasn't mad at her anymore for the other love interests she has shown to others. In fact, she has found a boyfriend and I am proud and happy for her. My life is great now, and I am thankful for anything I can get. Every now and then, I may be sad, but it is impossible to always be happy. I tell myself that everytime I am, it is a type of code, really.
All those events, of the past, made impressions, that will always last. Everyday, I ask myself, what would have happened if I didn't open that notebook that boring day of play practice. Well, I would have never understood love, I would have never made new friends, but most importantly, I would have never discovered the one talent that would change my life forever. I have an everlasting poem written in lessons on my soul, and I read it everyday. It sums up to be: being normal and being like everyone else, isn't actually normal at all. Roses are red, violets are blue, take pride in who you are, and you will make it through....

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LaurenTaylor. said...
Sept. 29, 2008 at 9:29 pm
I really enjoyed this. Keep up the great work. :)
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