For the next 30 days on my YouTube channel Loving the Language of Literacy, I will be posting an original poem of mine along with behind the scenes knowledge of my inspiration, the creative process, and any other lessons / tips & tricks I have to offer.
I didn't actually write this poem to any particular prompt except for the feelings I had towards the school and my life in New York versus England.
And look, they didn't know she was coming
With a purple jumper in her suitcase
And skin cells that have sunk beneath stereotypes to feel the satisfying squish of English soil,
Instead of a one way ticket from somewhere she never took the time to know
And a caucus of politicians, too clawed into campsite trash bags to make any decisions
So when they ask her - jokingly - if she's learned the language
She will have to admit; she didn't allow herself to become fluent
She's always imagined them catching their reflections in her armor
too absorbed to notice the coagulated rust, let alone the person underneath
Once again, she has the chance to invent the piece of themselves they manage to see in her, which is all they will remember anyways,
or so she hopes.
It started in Spanish class, when Ahmad is defeated by the predicate tense and announces to everyone that she would have known the answer.
Then it was to object of her objections, who texted, to ask how she was doing.
After, it was the guidance counselor, who received email number seven and told her to stop writing.
That's when she realizes, her arrival will be noticed
And that is the misery, or the miracle, of being missed
And look, they didn't know she was coming
With a purple jumper in her suitcase
And skin cells that have sunk beneath stereotypes to feel the satisfying squish of English soil,
Instead of a one way ticket from somewhere she never took the time to know
And a caucus of politicians, too clawed into campsite trash bags to make any decisions
So when they ask her - jokingly - if she's learned the language
She will have to admit; she didn't allow herself to become fluent
She's always imagined them catching their reflections in her armor
too absorbed to notice the coagulated rust, let alone the person underneath
Once again, she has the chance to invent the piece of themselves they manage to see in her, which is all they will remember anyways,
or so she hopes.
It started in Spanish class, when Ahmad is defeated by the predicate tense and announces to everyone that she would have known the answer.
Then it was to object of her objections, who texted, to ask how she was doing.
After, it was the guidance counselor, who received email number seven and told her to stop writing.
That's when she realizes, her arrival will be noticed
And that is the misery, or the miracle, of being missed
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