Vulnerability for 500
The conversation is poetry. While some students in class are giggling with excitement, I am internally rolling my eyes at the thought. Don't get me wrong- I was a beatnik in high school; I had my fair share of diaries and journals, but they all sit collecting dust somewhere amongst a cabinet full of memorabilia junk at my mom's house. The truth is that poetry and I were toxic lovers. When I was at my most vulnerable, the paper would call to me, begging me to be the canvas upon which I laid out the worst of the worst. At the time I would call it poetry, but now all I call it is *sighs* cringe. And, I am sorry to the true tortured poets reading this, drag me to death! Call me uneducated and cold, I know, I know. But my willful days of writing poetry are over....That is, so I thought. When Professor Overman warned us that we would be sharing our poems in front of everyone, I could not believe it. Writing poetry is one thing, but reading it out loud in front of people who