National Poetry Month Day 5: 2nd Person POV Inspired by…
Days 9 and 10: June 8 and 9
After my wonderful reflection on Day 8 and my goals of writing more consistently, I have failed. It has been two days since I have last written. I am not sure what I am going to do, but I know I will keep trying! I will make up today by posting two writings.
Writing #1: I Am
I recently saw a tweet about being a writer. That you do not have to be a published writer to be a writer. So, I am going to write a poem of all of the things I am. I often struggle with giving myself labels because I never truly feel that I really belong in that label. I always think of someone else who fits the mold more than me.
Since I am doing all of my writing on my blog, I am going to show my brainstorm first, followed by my poem.
Revising and Editing-my thoughts before putting it all together
I am going to try to order these in importance. I am also going to take out I am an innovator because an does not really fit with all of the other words, since everything else was with a. I am going to take out peaceamaker, because mediator matches better and means the same thing.
Writing ##2: The Story of My Life
I have a journal that a student of mine gave me on the last day of school last year. I have just now decided to start writing in it because I think it would be a great place to start if I were to want to start really writing. I have been throwing the idea around on trying to find a focus and really write something and I think the best place to start would be with me. My story. This journal has prompts on every page to help me, guide me, and I have enjoyed looking through and getting started!
The reflection I am going to write about is a tough one for me. This one is one of my earliest memories and although I do not remember every detail, it has stuck with me. I have added some details, but the emotions are all real.
My Father’s Tear
It is mid-morning, right when the sun streams the strongest through the blinds of my window. The sun is bright and leaves warm stripes of sunlight across the floor of my bedroom. My dad is sitting on the edge of my bed, staring out the window. He is deep in thought. I begin to notice the rough outlines around his eyes. The scruff on his neck and face from not shaving. His wrinkled shirt. I also notice the sadness. I reach for his hand, because I know he is going to say something bad, and I want to have him hold me. He always makes everything better.
My father turns to me and I see a tear sitting at the base of his eye. I am seeing things. My daddy does not cry. He is the strongest man I know. He comes home from working on cars with all kinds of burns and scrapes, but he has never complained. Never even needed a bandaid. He cannot have a tear in his eye.
And yet, he does. He blinks a few times. He gives my hand a squeeze. And he says those words. The words that will sit with me for the rest of my life. That will haunt my dreams. That will tear my heart apart.
“I have to move out.”
What does this mean? Why does my daddy have to leave? How long is he leaving for? Will I get to see him again?
As these questions race through my mind, I watch the tear fall down his cheek.