What will your verse be?

As the rain consumed us all this weekend, I allowed myself to give in to those rainy-day desires: curling up on the couch in sweatpants with my journal, a cozy blanket, some grapes (maybe not related to the rainy weather, but hey, I'm just trying to paint the picture), and the ever reliable Netflix. I ended up watching a movie that has long been on my list: Dead Poets Society. 

"The powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse. What will your verse be?"

I've been struggling to write a new blog post for the past week now. After being absolutely floored by the amount of kind-hearted, encouraging, and loving responses you all so generously gave following my last post, I (very contrarily) became more worried about my next one. I've spent hours reading through poems from the past year and month and week, spent far too much time critiquing, editing, and re-thinking, and ultimately have been paralyzed by the fact that nothing seemed "good enough." 

How sad is that? How awful is it that we've been conditioned to fear our creative output's value based on others' evaluations? How terrible is it that too many of us are silenced by uncertainty in our ability to speak confidently, or make our voices heard, or be worthy of an audience?

As the incredible Robin Williams emphatically proclaimed (doodled above) in Dead Poets Society, 

"You must strive to find your own voice 

because the longer you wait to begin, 

the less likely you are going to find it at all." 

Therefore, this post will share a poem that I wrote spontaneously upon finishing the movie. I had turned the lights off and closed my eyes to sleep, but found my head full of thoughts and words. So, in the notepad of my phone, I wrote a 15-minute poem to try to convey my renewed appreciation for our freedom to create, to use our voices, and to have our own unique and limitless minds to explore each day, for as long as we live. Isn't it a wonder, too, that these thoughts might live on and be shared with those who are born past the boundaries of our lifespans?   

Here is that poem in its untouched, unedited, and imperfect form. But really, if you think about it, here is that poem in its truest form. 

As always, please read with kindness. 

Let us revel- as at the sky

            a child may dwell upon the stars-

in what vast expanse of the mind

            holds home to no limitations- no bar

whose ultimate height requires a stop,

nor path forbidden, nor door kept locked.

That we may wander in infinite creation-

            free of trespassing's looming worry-

should be each day a revelation

            of ponderings till the time we’re buried;

and yet, undying in intellect, soar

vicariously through our chimerical lore.

Self-perpetuated and unsurpassed,

            from age to age so grows the tree

whose branches hold, though long we’ve passed,

            the whims of us who dared to dream-

hanging, waiting beneath the sky,

preserved though far below we lie,

            whispering Pick us to incorrupt child.

Let's sweeten time with poetry.

September: National Suicide Prevention Awareness month.
September 10: World Suicide Prevention Day

1,100: the number of college students lost to suicide each year.
1 in 10: the number of college students who have made a plan for suicide.
20x greater: the increased risk of death by suicide for those who suffer from depression.
18.8 million: the number of Americans who suffer from depression annually.
>25%: the percentage of people with depression who receive adequate care.
#1: Depression is the leading cause of disability worldwide.

(A gem of eloquence, drawn from a poem by a much more artful Annie, but doodled by yours truly.)

The following is the first poem I'll ever share (!) in any sort of public setting. I'll simply preface my poem with what I feel is necessary background information. Just over a year ago, I was diagnosed with major depressive disorder. Many people haven't known, nor have I strived to make it known. However, this is not because I'm ashamed (though, unfortunately, society still has not quite erased the stigma associated with mental illness).

I promise that not all my poetry is grim- in fact, poetry generally acts therapeutically and makes me see beauty and art in the slightest of things. But I do feel that this is a topic we have no business glossing over or cringing away from. This is by no means an anecdotal poem and certainly is no depiction of my own life or experiences. It simply stemmed from a comment made by a customer at work who, upon learning I struggled with depression, exclaimed, "You?! But you seem like the happiest person in the world!"
Don't make assumptions. Remove the stigma. 
And please read with kindness. 
(I'm hesitant to declare titles for poems, and therefore often don't).

I moved to a city, which needn't be named,

yet to find what it may hold for me.

Of neighbors and locals, I asked for advice,

directions and places and faces I’d need,

but all told me most, and with uncontrived guise,

of the happiest girl that you ever did see.

One following other fell flummoxed to words

in vexing pursuit of veritable epitome–

was it grace? Magnanimity? Her rose colored frame?

They grasped in the air, though to capture a breeze;

elusive, essential, freely uncontainable–

tacitly felt before consciously perceived.

Cynic and skeptic each long had a shanty

upon a hunched shoulder, both of which I leased.

Yet one dour day as I held hands with shadows,

and grey was the only hue tinting my sight,

I sensed her. I saw her and thought, She must be

the happiest girl that I ever have seen.

I tried, in that moment, to comprehend she:

impossibly radiant, blinding, confounding.

Around her, an aura I felt embrace me

erased and renewed darkened passes with light,

a countenance showing what I’d ceased to see,

reverting me freely to childlike belief.

Returning each day, pulled like tides in the sea,

I watched and I pondered, supposed and observed,

and found myself wondering at night what she dreamed.

In transient moments, her eyes would cast down,

dimmed by despondent, anomalous cloud,

but ceasing before I could verify the scene.

A fortnight passed till we crossed paths on the street;

the hour was such that the moon watched drowsily.

With stature appearing to bear leaden grief,

she looked like the saddest girl I’d ever seen.

But when her eyes rose and beheld my advent,

my worry was quelled by her resplendency.

That was the last of her bearing I saw,

the night she’d proclaimed as her life’s apogee.

"A stunned city tries to make sense,” so they’d write,

and so in the paper I’d, dumbfounded, read

of the girl who had fooled us all, living to please-

concealment as natural to her as to breathe.

“Hundreds are wondering how this could be;

she seemed like the happiest girl they’d ever seen.”







Suicide Statistics drawn from
http://www.emorycaresforyou.emory.edu/resources/suicidestatistics.html
http://www.nami.org/Get-Involved/Awareness-Events/Suicide-Prevention-Awareness-Month

Mental Health Statistics
http://www.nami.org/Learn-More/Mental-Health-By-the-Numbers

Let us begin.

Hello world,

For a long while now, I have not wanted to start a blog. To be quite honest, I'm still not quite sure that I've changed my mind.

Perhaps this blog will disappear in a few days (though of course, as we're constantly warned, "Nothing ever disappears once it's been on the internet!"). Or, perhaps I will actually become comfortable with putting my words and thoughts out on a public shelf that others can see, reach, and take bits of my personal writings down from.

In either case, I hope that any who browse my shelf will peruse, ponder, and possibly even enjoy whatever they may read. And, if they feel so inclined, feel free to invite other friends into my little nook in the world wide web.

This may be one of the rare times I'll post in an editorial sense, as I'm mainly intending to use this blog as a way to learn courage- to share poetry I write with any eyes other than mine, in a format other than my private, locked away journals. Letting others look in on my poems has been a strict no-go so far, but as someone recently told me, "That's going to have to change."

So while I'm here, I'll just say this: please feel welcome and free, practice openness and kindness, and please allow yourself to use your voice without fear. (Furthermore, know that I'm still learning and struggling to apply these ideas, too.)

Happy Monday, everybody. Fingers crossed that I'll actually publish this post, and more to come- wish me luck!