Manipulation, Faith, Creation (Possibly)...

I had the brilliant idea this week that I should do a Throw Back Thursday on the blog, only instead of it being a picture, I should dig up one of my stories from my creative writing class in college and put it on the blog.

In college, writing was my entire life. Everything was copy. Reading through those stories brings back memories, both cherished and embarrassing, of a girl still on the cusp of life.

It’s a bit overwhelming.

But I did find one thing-which, oddly, is a poem-that isn’t too terribly embarrassing to share. You will quickly see why I am not a poet. But this one, which I wrote as a tribute to what it means to me to call myself a “writer”-I don’t know, I like it. It’s nothing, really, but a girl trying to write a poem who isn’t a poet. But here you go:

Manipulation, Faith, Creation

It begins with a word,
One word, one idea,
More are then added
To give it weight.

I take these words
And mesh them together,
I bundle them up
Into a jumble.

Then I begin to roll them,
I roll them flat,
I strip them of their meaning,
Until I can see them clearly.

(this is manipulation)

I press the words,
My words now,
Onto my mold
Until they stick.

They don’t all fit, you know.
Some will have to be-
Sacrificed.
On my altar to Plath and Wordsworth.

(this is faith)

And so I begin to cut,
It’s almost blinding,
Physically, I ache
And wonder how my idols do it.

There, there-
The mess is on the floor now.
And the rest remain stuck,
As they should be.

Now they are burnt,
They are singed into my memory
As though it matters

(this is creation)