Posted in art, poetry, writing

My People

My people  There’s a part of me in every one of them, split projections reflecting back so that if they stood in a circle a hologram of me would appear in the center. Each one carries a different trait, an elemental slice of who I am— the way she cowers behind her hands, diverting and accentuating the social awkwardness of interacting in public places; the way he relinquishes his soul to music, making sense of emotion through lyrics, expressing a mood in a song choice; the way she overthinks; the tempo that he sings; how she doubts whether she wore the right earrings; that he laughs at inappropriate pauses in conversation; her resilience evidenced in getting out of bed and trying again. They’re my people, friends so familiar we share tears, so close I see their faces in my mirror— without them I’d disappear.

I think it’s important to notate that the rhyme in the last  lines is completely unintentional! The last step in my writing process always involves reading the poem out loud (which probably gives people the impression I’m talking to myself, especially if I’m in a coffee shop or something). Anyway, I didn’t notice the rhyme until that moment and in utter honesty, I liked the individual lines too much to change it. Deal with it.

Happy Tuesday!


Poetry and music.

7 thoughts on “My People

  1. Since when did it become a crime
    To write a verse that dared to rhyme?
    Sure, poet-snobs may toot and cough
    And lift their noses when they scoff –
    But let me ask these rhyming foes:
    What of the Shakespeares? Byrons? Poes?
    So many greats that worked in rhyme
    And structured meter, beating time
    With foots, with iambs, carefully wrought
    As ‘gainst the wiles of language fought
    To tell a tale that pleased to sing
    Because they had a rhyming ring.
    So if you rhyme, why take offense?
    The classics are your best defense.

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