So everyone has a story to tell, at least that is what I’ve been told. I know I have a few New York Times Best Sellers living inside and if I were courageous enough to speak about my stories I’d have made the Best Sellers list multiple times. I may have even capitalized on the reality TV craze long before The Real World or College Hill, because let’s face it for the last few years my life has been a series of soap operas and I was the leading lady. I’ve been on a journey for quite some time now, but really started this work in progress in 2007 when I read The Purpose Driven Life. While it seems like a never ending story I am ready to put an end on this novel and look to my future. I am excited about the possibility of what I could be if I stop being what everyone thinks I should be.
A few years ago I wanted to write, be a poet like Nikki Giovanni. I have always loved writing, and well anything artistic. It was during this phase that I allowed people in the poetry world to define me. I was the poet who spoke about this unjust world that we live in, but I never looked the part. I remember one of the first open mics I attended; at Café Cin Cin in Downtown Cincinnati an African American man approached me (I now call him the Last Black Man) and asked did I write the poem that I had just read. I replied yes, he stated he didn’t believe me, because I did not look like a poet. It was then that I decided if I want to be taken seriously in my non-paying gig that I had to look the part. I began wearing my glasses to every open mic to appear more studious. I dressed in t-shirts that said something on the front, wore my hair more naturally and even tried becoming a vegetarian, not for health reasons, but because I wanted to fit in. I wanted to be a poet, or what I thought a poet was. I had the talent but as the Last Black Man stated I didn’t look the part.
Well after months of all that nonsense I still felt I did not fit in, not because my poetry was not good, but because I was not comfortable being someone I was absolutely not. I was not the “angry” poet who was going to march/rally because I was pursuing a degree in English; I sincerely wanted to be a writer, I wanted to write short stories, poetry, children’s books, and researched essays on children and education, I just wanted to write, write about anything and nothing in particular. See I wanted to write poetry, but not world changing poetry. I was not Nikki Giovanni and while I still admire the strength of her words, I am not she. I had not realized that I was not being who I was meant to be until I started working for the housing authority and everything I thought I believed in was challenged. I fell into a depression, not able to write, paint, draw, or do spoken word. I questioned myself and did not believe in the love of those who loved and continue to love me unconditionally. I was a mess, a hazard to myself to be quite honest. With all the things I had to be thankful for I’m sure if you would have asked me then I could not list one.
I needed to know who I was and it clearly was not the stage persona I claimed to be, nor was it the mean housing specialist who believed everyone was lying to her. I needed to dig deep to figure out where all my insecurities came from and when did I create these stories? But how
Making headway to be continued…
