My definition of poetry has aged alongside me.
In grade school, I groaned at the mention of poetry. I never saw the secret meanings that my teachers and peers seemed to find so easily. I also was turned off by the formula of it all. Poetry was a waste of time to me. Something I cast aside because it was too difficult and my least favorite unit in high school.
In my early years of college, poetry meant freedom. It started with two assigned readings: Saina by Craig Santos Perez and Whereas by Layli Long Soldier. As I opened their poetry books I saw the opposite of what I always thought poetry was. I saw white space, a mix of English and languages I didn't speak, legal documents made poetic by typographic alterations, words scattered in random order, and sentences interrupted by sudden line breaks. I was blown away. I began writing like those authors, in awe of the meaning they could pack into a page and the rebellion of creating something so uncaged by poetic tradition. They were the light at the end of the tunnel. They were my awakening. The key to escaping my cage as a writer. And then as a person.
Poetry then became a release. A way to lay all my burdens on a page however I saw fit. Formula and grammar be damned. And I thought of poetry that way for a while. Then I entered a course titled "Poetry is Not a Luxury" taught by Dr. Lisa Hollenbach. I sat in that course behind a quaint desk and wondered at the poets I was studying. I thought that though these poets had advocated for and enacted change thus impacting innumerable lives—surely that path was just for them. There was no way my voice could ever do that. So I sat in silence as I watched my rights and my loved one's rights slowly fall away. I watched our lives being debated on the news. Our worthiness to be human. I sat behind a screen. And I stayed that way for way too long.
While reading "A Woman Talking to Death" by Judy Grahn I decided enough was enough. I saw my face in that poem. My mother's. My cousins'. My friends'. I saw them all in this poem. I saw the faces of every woman, person of color, and queer person impacted by needless violence. I saw them all. I saw every statistic and the crying mothers behind each number.
And I got angry. Something had to happen. I had to do something.
It may not be much, but here it is: Poets for Progress.
This website is for every story that's ever been silenced. For all of us who carry the burden of silence, who are told they are not good enough or the right kind of person to exist. For the best minds of our generation and the ones who lead us to this moment. This is for you. For you to scream, celebrate, laugh, and cry through poetry. Let your story be heard.
Together we will force all our voices to be heard. Others have done it in the past. Look to Langston Hughes, to Muriel Rukeyser, to Audre Lorde, to Layli Long Soldier, Natalie Diaz, and so many more. They use(d) poetry for progress. So why not us?
Join me and become a Poet for Progress.
To contribute to Poets for Progress, visit our home page and click the menu option titled "Contribute a Poem."
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