Poems

I am not much of a poetry person, but I wrote these two poems for school, and I think they're worth sharing. They have very, very different feels to them, while still having a lot of connections. "My Mask and Me" is based strongly on myself so... be warned. As for "We are the World," well, that's more based on an idea, of my own imagining. I really don't see too much of myself in the that poem.

Both poems are free-verse, but I love using repetition as a literary tool, so there's a lot of repetition. It's so powerful and everything. I should mention Paul Lawrence Dunbar's poem "We Wear the Mask," which is the poem My Mask and Me is based off of. And We are the World was written in response to a short story entitled "How It Feels to Be Colored Me," by Zora Neale Hurston. So, enjoy (hopefully):

I think the mask one is much better than We are the World. I mean, my English teacher, who never gives extra credit, gave My Mask and Me a twenty-six out of twenty-five. I'll end the shameless plug now. >.>

We are the World

Standing in the dark, grass beneath bare feet.

Cool air against my face, wind in my ears.

Dizzy, spinning, with no control.

Mouth opens in a silent scream,

Caught in the tide of the world.

Lost and ignorant, searching for answers,

But finding nothing more than grass.

Standing in the dark, still as stone.

Questions race, back in forth, but still I stand.

I look around, but see nothing more than black.

I can feel every muscle, bone and nerve.

Everything that makes me, my physical form.

I can think every thought and catch every emotion.

Everything that makes me, my life; my soul.

A noise from beside me, just a small little sigh.

“Hello?” I try, but no sound can I make.

But comes the echo, softly at first. “Hello?”

I move through the darkness, searching for sound.

Searching for something to grab on and hold.

“Hello?” From beside me, now louder and strong.

I reach out and grasp, to feel a hand in my own.

Relief fills my chest and up-overflows.

In the dark nothing matters, not the world beyond,

Not appearance or shape, just the hand in my own.

We're in the dark, where everyone is the same.

And yet even here, I am myself, defined by my skin.

I want to reach out and go beyond that skin,

To traverse the dark as just plain, simple Me.

The hand in mine gives a gentle tug,

Pulling me forward, or upwards, or down.

Not much matters here, together in the dark.

I feel my bones and muscles and nerves,

As they move, almost of their own accord.

Each tendon and ligament, stretching, tying.

Even my toes feel wild; alive.

A conflicted mass of entangled emotions;

Curiosity and cautiousness, joyful and sad.

Here in the dark, but not lonely.

Scared but not frightened. Alive, oh so alive!

I smile a smile to feel the wind on my face.

An urge to scream, to cry, to yell. To jump to the heavens,

To sing a glad song, to plunge into the darkness

And never look back.

Through the darkness I reach with my free hand.

I latch onto another and pull with my soul.

Now joined we are in a never ending chain.

Someone always beyond the two next to me.

“Together!” They shout. “Together!” We cry.

What does it matter? Our color? Or race?

In the end, we're all one. “Together!”

From our hands comes a light, pouring forth.

I can see around me. I can see everyone, the world.

Beside me, my right, is a girl with a bad burn on her face.

Beside me, my left, is a man with a limp, but his face is afire.

Across from me is a black woman, a smile on her lips.

Next to her is an Asian, proud and tall.

We form a circle, a never ending circle.

Indian. African. Asian. American. European.

Alfred and Zachary. Anna and Zoe.

Red. Gold. Brown. Black. White. Lime green.

Everyone is together, everyone is one.

Nothing matters anymore. We are joyful.

In the dark, we're together.

In the light, we're together.

Who am I?

What am I?

The color of me is the World.

The color of you is the World.

The color of us is the World

-end poem one-

-begin poem two-

My Mask and Me
 

I wear the mask of Deception.

Shrouded in fear, hidden in shadow,

Ignoring the darkness that is my soul,

Even alone, I am not myself.

So I wear the Mask.

A mask of jewels and diamonds,

the glistening ability to lie.

I use the mask to control the darkness,

and present a facade of light.

Even alone, I am not myself.

I wear the mask of Strange.

Abnormal; focused not on this world

Lonely; my world, my own.

Still, I choose this mask.

So I wear the Mask.

A mask of laughter and intelligence,

humor, joy, a world of knowledge,

A place where I am accepted,

The mask and Me.

Still, I choose this mask

I wear the mask of Hope.

Bright and golden, cheerful and alive.

A dream, a wish, a future,

But behind my mask, I am hopeless.

So I wear the Mask.

A mask of visions and dreams,

A fantasy lost to all but me.

Those are my wonders and nightmares the same.

For a moment, sometimes I think that dreams do come true.

But behind my mask, I am hopeless.

I wear the mask of Aloof.

When you don't have friends, it doesn't hurt so much.

Those friends can't hurt you, can't tear you apart.

Can't make you feel worthless.

So I wear the Mask.

The mask of stone, cold stone.

My friends are my stories, the written word.

Pencils and pens, a replacement

Because they can't make you feel,

Can't make you feel worthless.

I wear the mask of Fear.

Phobias of random and trivial things.

Firetrucks and failure, shadows and shame.

The ever growing darkness that I can't control.

So I wear the Mask.

A mask of fire and ice and rage,

More in my mind than reality.

But my greatest fear, the one I hide

Is the fear of what is behind the mask.

The ever growing darkness that I can't control.

I wear the mask of Some-Other-Me.

Not myself, no, not with anyone,

So the world sees just a normal girl

And not the darkness inside,

Thanks to the Mask,

Thanks to my Mask.