In which a millennial black boy discovers the power of his thoughts and the impact of a pen. The consequences thereafter are devastating.
A collection of shitty poems and real life experiences narrated from the perspective of a charcoal dreamer.
"Go home and write a page tonight. And let that page come out of you - then it will be true."
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Who am I?
I think this is one of those questions where people are supposed to have a predetermined answer. State your name, age the school you attend and what you like to do in your free time. Foolproof right? My name is Matthew, 16 years of age, attending Jamaica College and I like to surf the Internet in my free time. But is that it? Is my definition really that one-lined?
What about my habit to bend my ankle? Or my hatred for dependency? Or my passion for the arts? Do they not account to my becoming? Or perhaps instead of those, I should add my GPA so intellects will pay attention and maybe my nationality so foreigners' eyes will widen. But do either of those represent me, or do they represent what I want you to think of me? If I omit apology, shyness and the constant need to please you what is left of my definition? Let's try this again.
I am Matthew, lover of the arts that transforms raw thought into sensory beauty. Hater of conflict that brews destruction. Introvert. Minimalist. Ridiculously absent minded. Irritatingly forgetful. Thinker. Creator. Lover. Unapologetically, completely, undoubtedly myself.
Author's Note
Inspired by Langston Hughs' "A Theme For English B", my English literature teacher gave us this assignment to write when I was 16. Damn, so much had changed. But at the same time, nothing has.
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