Pictured: Aitina Fareed-Cooke, Vonetta T. Rhodes, Benjamin Brindise, and Brandon Williamson
I recently had the opportunity to attend an event at the Burchfield Penney hosted by Aitina Fareed-Cooke. She was presenting her project entitled Poetically Speaking, in which she highlighted the lives and work of local Buffalo poets.
To say I was inspired was an understatement.
As a writing student, I am overly critical of my abilities as a creative. Whether it’s a work in progress or has already been sent out to a magazine, I find myself time and time again becoming overly critical of what I write.
It becomes hard to want to share what you do when you don’t fully believe in your own ability. However, I’ve learned it’s me who’s getting in the way of my own success as a writer, no one else.
With the slight push from these poets’ words of encouragement, I wanted to share some of my own poetry I’ve been working on this semester in my advanced poetry class.
We have been tasked with making a chapbook collection of work, somehow connected by story, prompt, form, etc.
As an individual who has struggled with mental health, gender identity, sexuality, and overall self-acceptance, my themes tend to relate to the feelings of body and nature. I hope to share my work with the world one day, but as I sit here writing for no one else but myself, I realize that that day could very well be today.
So here they are, I hope you enjoy.
They
we are fields apart now, an acre or more,
footsteps on frozen ground, a bridge, fallen branches begging to
be taken out of their misery
lilac trees, mints, a re-homed sweater,
soft skin, a lucky chin, and the remnants of a person
who was
begging
to see them
be them
seen;
i understand now
that the person he sees
is not who i am
or can be
because he is a product of a time
that doesn’t always–
and yet i am still that little girl,
who whispers to their animals asleep by their side,
wishing that you would just–
but you won’t,
and i think i knew, because I talked to them today,
in that lonesome hallway, right after you told me
that you felt like it didn’t really count for you to– understand
they
they
they …
Bones n Bugs
My skin is crawling
with bugs
In an around,
up and under the
layers of grass, but
it’s really my arms,
my legs, my stomach
and my lungs
I can’t breathe under
the weight, as they
devour my bones, and
clog my brain, with
their own ideas and thoughts,
on what they think my
body should have been
I wonder what you
may think now, but
all I can hear are the bugs
that fill my ears as they
take over my body
and cover my eyes
creating a home out of this
lifeless shell;
until
I am consumed.
[and then my
bones begin to break]
I wish I had more time to write and participate in the literary world, but for now, I hope that this can be a piece of literary citizenship.
As a busy college student, in my senior year, it’s been difficult to navigate.
I am forever grateful for the opportunity I got to see these poets live and in person at the Burchfield Penney. If you’re interested in reading my review for The Buffalo Hive, check it out below
The Gay Agenda
