April 30, 2015

Beating Hearts

Today is the last day of April, the end of my poem a day. I missed a couple, and a few times I shared poems that weren't mine, but I did it, anyway. A poem a day for the month of... April. Hm, how come they didn't make May poetry month?

Anyway, I got a little bit of sun today, and celebrated the end of Journalism and Creative Writing by walking down to Starbucks with my writer friend and window shopping in expensive clothes stores. It's so nice to have a break, and I think my friend knew I needed one after a rough morning.

I woke up to a lot of sudden huge thoughts that I hadn't really confronted yet, and spent the half hour of "getting ready" time trying to write my thoughts into words. I was a minute late to my final Journalism class in which we discussed big issues in the world and "how to solve them," but I needed to take the time to write this morning. Sometimes it's like my thoughts don't really exist until I put them onto paper. Or at least onto a computer screen in most cases.

This poem is actually a second (or third? Maybe fourth?) draft of a poem that I wrote yesterday after checking out our school's Creative Media Major final projects and then laying in the grass soaking up as much sunshine as I could. Here it is: the last poem of April. 

Beating Hearts

Beauty is the beating of my heart,
the flutter of butterfly-wing air
as I breathe in
and breathe out
and close my eyes to feel the white film
dance across the skin of my face
as I imagine the sky
and feel the grass tickle the back of my neck.

All around me students curl their old projects
into folders and boxes
and I remember the creative media displayed
and the themes that sung throughout.
In these projects,
beauty is self-loathing,
fear of failure-
and none of us want to admit
that we are facing darkness,

yet from that darkness we make art

and the art
we can share.

But Beauty is far from self
because self is broken and beat
and beauty is me
in Him. 

Beauty is the beating of my heart
as it beats His praise.
Beauty is the song on my lips
that I sometimes cannot sing.
Beauty is the light of His sun
warming the insides
of my self.

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