Poems: My History of Emotion

By: Aiyanna Bailey

It is quite offsetting to me how people struggle to identify their emotions. For me, that problem was never a focal point in my life. True, as all children do, I struggled to find myself. To be honest, that fact still haunts me. But, never once did I have to question how I was to express these conflicts; it was always in the form of poetry.

Over the years, notebooks have been filled with words. From beautiful cursive writing to unintelligible scribbles to plain dotted i’s, each poem holds within it an era of emotion throughout my life. Only now do I really come to understand what these eras are. 

One that really sticks out to me is a poem titled, “Invisible”.  Just now, I stumbled upon it; its odd formation really drawing me in as I thumbed through the pages of one of my older journals. During this time in my life, I was struggling with feeling invisible, like no one genuinely saw me. But, now, I see that I was really struggling with validation. I wanted someone to tell me where I was headed, but I was faced with questions everyday. I was a small 8th grader struggling to figure out who I was, how to express myself, and how to separate myself from others. And to the journals I went. 

Recently, I thought about entering it for an essay contest. I took into account young girls who felt the same way as me. Maybe this poem would shed some light on their struggles. But, I have not, yet, had the courage to bring it to the public eye.

Still, I considered how much it deserves to be in the spotlight. So, here it goes. 

“Invisible”

The wind is a curious thing,

It is a force, a powerhouse,

Yet, it remains unseen.

This is the story for all curios creatures,

Such as love, hate, and air,

But, I am no preacher.

If only these things were to be seen,

Then maybe the wielders would be so keen.

Perhaps love could be produced, manufactured,

But then, being would take it for granted.

Possibly hate would vanish, destroyed.

But then, the “doormats” would never be toyed.

Then, there is air, the purest of all.

Without such, we would all fall.

But, air not be seen,

Nor feelings be touched,

Because in the end, it won’t matter to us.

For all of us beings, invisibility will remain.

But, I am no preacher, 

So, if you need ask why, you must refrain. 

Source credit: Google Images (2009)