As a child, I’d lather myself in poetry as if its balm would soothe the crevices of my cracked soul.
The blank pages of an unassuming journal absorbed every unfiltered thought as I ached to make sense of my complicated feelings. In only a handful of instances are words vigorously crossed out in an attempt to erase history.
As an adult, I’d try to decipher the text to no avail. A delight to my inner child.
In one journal, I shared:
I wish I could remember my dreams So I could live off fantasy But can’t in your reality So I’ll wish until I can dream
At five years old, I was told I wouldn’t read until the fifth grade. Dad knew there had to be another way.
I remember planting myself criss-cross applesauce on the living room rug while Dad fitted black, adult-sized headphones over my ears.
“Let’s teach you to read, baby,” he said, grinning.
He hit play, and the first Hooked on Phonics tape began.
Once I’d learned to read, I fell in love with writing. Eager to express my feelings, I’d pour myself into dozens of journals—all of which were used to help me create I CHOSE TO BE HERE.
Though poetry is scarce throughout my memoir, it was a critical part of the creative process. In fact, the first draft of the manuscript included over 6,000 words of poetry.
When I’m at a loss for what to write next, poetry is what lights the way for me.
Below is a link to some of my favorites, whether in snippets or full form.
Sarah Lopez 