My First Poem (pt. 2)

This is a continuation of the story of how I went from absolutely hating poetry to absolutely loving it. If you missed that one, the link is right here:

Now, onto the story!

Last year of college, I need one more English credit. Looking at the list, there were not many options. Oh well. I went with the 400 level poetry class.

That class had… 6 of us. Four girls, two guys. We had a small room, and would sit in the outer circle facing each other. This is the class that made me fall in love with poetry.

This class was really a history class, but told through the lenses of those that were in the minority at the time. We would read four poems from one author in class, dissecting that one poem for an hour. Then, at the end of the unit, we would pick from a list of authors from the same time period, with similar subject matter, and create our own presentation.

Then, we would pick a poem from any of the other ones we liked. And write a poem in the style of that one we picked. Sort of like fanfiction haha. Our professor told us that this is really the backbone of poetry, taking inspiration from others and creating our own.

I actually liked this class.

No more three hours staring at a line about the number five.

No, we were reading about racism. Poverty. Social injustices.

And the poems my classmates wrote were amazing as well. One was so beautiful that I actually started crying. Another classmate was such a genius when it came to writing, that when it came time to graduate she read some of her writing at the podium!

Here’s my favorite poem: