Monday, January 3, 2011

the burden of words period.

I don't know if it's just me or what but poets are hella emotional. Well it may just be me, who knows. But for me some days are literally a fight to keep my emotions in check. Now I don't know if this is true for all poets or if I'm just unstable but I think I empathize entirely too well or something. Well... ok to avoid this being some unorganized rambling as my posts often end up, let's backtrack a wee bit. & yeah... I just said a wee bit.
Anyway, long story short, I consider myself to be a very blessed individual-- no conceitedness or vanity meant to be implied or anything-- I'm just very well aware that compared to those I've come in contact with even in college alone, I haven't gone through a lot of the things most people have gone through.  I will say I've had my fair share of ups & downs, struggles & things, I've had my heart broken a few times, experienced the loss of a loved one on more than one occasion but... ok well on paper that looks like quite a bit but... I guess I just don't have much regard for my own feelings? I mean I'm not gonna lie, there are times I feel for others way more than I do myself; like I said, I empathize very well. I guess it's the social worker in me but I just personify other's feeling more than I do my own, especially when it comes to my writing.  I guess this whole third eye thing helps with that, I can write about something I've never experienced or even better, something someone close to me has & I swear I'm overcome with emotion like it was really me. #FriendFact, I hate seeing people I love struggle or go through painful experiences yadda yadda yadda things of that nature. I would love to be able to just swoop down & take away all the hurt & pain & what have you but I'm not God.   & trust, as a loving friend, it's hard to come to grips with that. But did you know that a rescue attempt can block the growth God wants for that person? Believe it or not, I actually LEARNED that in class this semester. In social work we have a skill called containment where we sit back & let a client cry or yell or fuss, do whatever they need to do to get through to the other side of a break down. We're right there with them no doubt but we'd rather walk with them through the trenches than pick them up out of it right away. And with me being the person that I am, that's a hard one to learn-- I'm still working on it actually. I've accepted though that I can't just make shii go away. It's impossible & maybe even detrimental to your walk & I refuse to block you in any way-- love is no excuse. But I'll walk with you in the rain fa sho. & you'll make it through even if I have to carry you a little ways. But I digress.
I feel a great deal of others' pain. So I write. That's all I can do to keep myself from losing my mind. I'm guessing God made me a vessel in the sense that I hold things for others. And in this service He gave me my words. His words. & my words. He gave me His as a message, mine as a testimony. Either way someone will be blessed by what We have to say. But I can't lie to you, this writing is both a blessing and a curse it seems like. I'm tormented by my craft at times-- when there's something in me that needs to come out but isn't mature enough to be expelled, my God it's a discomfort like no other. For lack of a better term, it's almost like a depression or a melancholy state, it's like mentally I'm absent from whatever else I may be doing at the time. I'm there but I'm not. My mind is constantly reeling. That's literally why I take my phone everywhere. I can't miss these words. I even have an extra blackberry I only use to write in #DrakeNShii. It gets real. So at times I may seem detached or depressed or it might even seem like I'm mad at somebody. But mostly it's because this shii is heavy. I'm not antisocial or emo or whatever the kids are calling it these days. I promise I'm not devoid of emotion; in fact, it's just the opposite. And even as a poet I struggle to explain this... it's... it's dark yo. I can't lie this writing is like a demon in me sometimes. I can't shake it til it's ready.Nina the poet is not the same as Nina the person or Nina your friend. I guess the easiest & maybe the most played out metaphor would be birthing a child. There's inception, gestation, delivery, etc. But parents are proud of children whereas honestly, I'm rarely proud of my work. I guess I'm my own worst critic but with me it's more like I could've done more with it or something.  But "a poem is never really finished, only abandoned." & that's 100% real. & that's what bothers me the most but I constantly have to remind myself that it's not about what EYE want, it's about what He wants. What He has to say. And it's rough balancing the two of us out-- trying to discern if He's letting me speak or if He has something different for me to say for somebody. for me. But that's how I know this is what I'm supposed to be doing. This struggle between Him & me, the struggle within myself, this movement, this trying to be the counterculture in a world that insists on feigning ignorance, this constant progression, constant confirmation of anointing-- it's the nature of the beast. Poets are a different breed. Things are so different now that I'm learning to walk in my anointing &coming into my own as a woman. of God. I'm very observant. I see things... differently than most people. My mind wanders and wonders a lot. & I'd like to think I have a different sense of beauty than most. I have a very loose interpretation of art but I appreciate it so intently. I take my time. I gaze. I stare. But always with purpose & intent. But anywho, I'm rambling somethin fierce right about now.

A poet is an unhappy being whose heart is torn by secret sufferings, but whose lips are so strangely formed that when the sighs and the cries escape them, they sound like beautiful music... and then people crowd about the poet and say to him: "Sing for us soon again;" that is as much as to say, "May new sufferings torment your soul." ~Soren Kierkegaard
& that there... that is my life. Truer words have never been spoken.

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