Back when I was in High School, poetry writing was my way of entertaining myself during an excruciatingly boring class. It was the best way because the teacher mostly thought I was taking notes, while my mind was actually on another planet. The poems I wrote reflected the mindset I was in at that time – depressed, angry, rebellious, drowning in fantasies about death, suicide and the apocalypse.
As with all my art, I never followed any conventional guidelines and just let my mind run free, butt-naked, let it all out with no inhibitions, no restrictions, no rules. I discovered that conventional rules of art only served to diminish the quality of the work, whereas unconventional works of art were the most honest, raw and human. This is what my poetry reflected – the disturbing yet human aspect of adolescence, in all its glorious gory details.
Last night, as part of my DIY month, I wrote a poem for the first time in a long time. It took me no more than 20 minutes, and when I was done, I tried to make sense of it. It was a poem about my vocal insecurities. Growing up, I hated loud noises. Being an only child, our house was always quiet. When I was 4 or 5, I hated day camp because all the kids there were screaming and crying. I don’t exactly know how I went from that to being a metalhead and blasting death metal with face-melting riffs and guttural growls, but what I do know is that I am still unable to scream.
That’s besides the fact that I hate the sound of my voice, and when I hear it on playback, I want to tear off my ears.
The poem itself is revolutionary in that it shows an effort, mainly by my inner child, to break away from that vocal self-hatred. Later on this month, I will also be recording a spoken word piece. The ultimate challenge for me will be playing back the piece and not cringe with disgust at my own voice. So the poem I wrote serves as a prelude to that.
Here it is. It’s called “Echoes.”
It falls like a dry autumn leaf
It sounds like a grand piano
They said I was a quiet girl
With a vivid imagination.
A beautiful image picture perfect
Voiceless, unthreatening, fading in the backdrop.
But it sounds like a dry autumn leaf
And it falls like a grand piano.
Nothing can save a quiet girl
From her imaginary screams.
Always a voiceless image, a perfect threat,
Her beauty fading in the backdrop.
It peels like a dry autumn leaf
It detunes like a grand piano.
When beauty becomes threatening,
Only the hideous ones survive.
The ugly girl and her vivid screams,
Their voices fading in the backdrop.
Only a echo remembers…
Peace, love and collage tonight