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Jun 2013
Sometimes, I write poetry for show.
People read my metaphors,
And claim that they love them.
I climb onto their shoulders,
Lean against their heads,
And scream in their ears until,
"Oh, wow, that's so powerful."
Then I move on to the next person,
Waving a piece of paper in my hands.

Other times, I write because I want to share.
Not because I want people to love my poetry,
But because I want to know that some people feel like I do.
I love it when I find someone else that had a common misconception.
Or when someone else is a Whovian like I am.
Or when someone one else has read Atlas Shrugged from cover to cover.
It makes me feel connected on a level deeper than all the time, alcohol, and conversations that we could possibly have.
It helps me not to feel alone.

But most of my poetry gets tucked away.
Enjoyed only by me.
Like writing myself sticky notes.
Sometimes they're little things.
A simple phrase that brings entire afternoons back.
A private moment with my father that I loved.
A one-liner that a 10-year-old nailed me with.
They are little things, but they are mine.

Then there are big things.
Things that I have tried to hide from myself, but they reveal themselves eventually.
Until I capture them on paper.
Imprisoned forever and never bother me again.

This is why I write.
To share, to embrace, to remember, and to forget.
Everything else is just me yelling at the world, claiming to be a writer.
Makana Queja
Written by
Makana Queja  Alaska
(Alaska)   
568
   Jamie
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