Poetry is Impossible

Poetry is Impossible

By Maddy O’Neal

I can’t write poetry.

Poetry means vulnerability and telling the truth; I am a famous liar.

But lying is good; it’s safe.
Lying is the fuzzy protective blanket, keeping me warm in the eye of the storm.
Lying is a comfortable mask that fits easily around my features and morphs perfectly.
Lying is smiling when you know the man speaking at you doesn’t respect you.
Lying is wearing your school colors cheerfully after being betrayed and told there was nothing the school could do after being called a racial slur.

You would be shocked at how many black women are famous liars.
Spreading an intricate web of lies to protect ourselves on both sides.
Being a woman is hard.
Being black is hard.
But being a black woman is… exhausting.

I can’t write poetry.

Vulnerability is dangerous.
Shedding my skin out like layers.

How my valves carry my secrets into my beating heart.
Opening my wounds, bleeding my experiences all over the floor for anyone to see.
Being vulnerable means masking anxiety.
Vulnerability means being able to breathe freely.
without fear that my presence is too loud and takes up too much space in a room.
Saying the words that my inner voice keeps trapped inside my mouth
I was…
He did… to me…
I hate my…

Why is the solution to our problems seem so easy but simply setting yourself free with just words is impossible?

I can’t write poetry, but I can try to tell my story.
Cope with who I am, hoping that honesty will become easier.
Shedding my mask away like sunburnt skin

Choosing to wear vulnerability like a shield instead of symbolizing it as a sword constantly aimed at my throat.
I hope that someone can relate to my words and find solace that we are not alone.

I am not brave enough to be a poet just yet,
But give me time.
Because maybe, just maybe I can try again tomorrow.