Poets

I love Sarah Kay's work.



And this, this is excellent.

And me? I am learning who I want to sound like when I grow up. I am aware that when I am done with this season, I will be someone else. I look forward to that. I feel like I should unpack that more, explain that more, provide a little more detail...but I don't really have any. At least, not today.

And if you have the fortitude to listen to a poem about surviving rape, this is as excellent as art made from pain ever gets:

This woman. This woman is power. I have spent the morning listening to all of her poetry. It only gets better. There is part of me that wants to be her. To have something to say and the fire to get up and say it. But I am quiet and adaptable. I change myself to the situation before I even ask myself if that is what I wanted to do. I often guess what is expected of me wrong but that only makes me change faster the next time. Forming a solid identity is a slow thing. A clumsy thing. A graceless thing. It is so hard to keep trying.