"pronunciation" poems - Hello Poetry

I stand in the middle of the room My classmates are commanded to listen to me I am the 14th person to present and so far, everyone has done a good job I stand in the middle of the room I begin to saw the name of my project “My Poem” I cannot remember what it was about I do remember, what I felt I stand in the room, Hoping that everyone feels what I felt when I was writing it I felt excited, my stomach had ‘butterflies’ I think I felt the heat in my heart and the cold on my shoulders. I felt the tingles all over my body, and the air escaping me I stood in the middle of the room I stand in the middle of the room I was in the middle of the room and said “My poem” I heard a chuckle. I ignored it because the ‘in love’ heart in my chest was more excited than It should have been I continues and my voice began to play tricks on me And the r’s rolled and the words were suddenly in another language My mind still ignored it and continues Because I felt I could write, and read this and everyone could love it I stood in the middle of the room, I waited for the, applause, the smiles, the congrats, or even a simple ‘good job’ like everyone else Instead… My teacher said, work on pronunciation. She said it again. Pro-noun-ci-a-tion Ok. ‘Work on grammar.’ ‘Work on sentence structure’ “Work on being American” the chuckle said Or the person who chuckled? It didn’t mean much, you know I loved writing so much that it did not matter I would be a writer, I would continue to STAND in the middle of the room and share my talent And when I did, he chuckled She chuckled, I was Mexican Not a writer. Writers can’t be Mexican Unless you write in Spanish and in Mexico But I was too American for that at this point… SO the next time I wrote I was ashamed, Maybe if someone else wrote my writing? But it didn’t matter, When the teacher began reading, The chuckle reminded the class it was the ‘Mexican’ who wrote it “Mi nina” My mom would say She reminded me that no only was I Mexican I was a woman, Only men thrive in this world I believed it And that is why my name is ‘The Voice’ Not my actually name, Disclosure: I accept criticism on how to better my writing NOT on what to write or on my background

0

Mar 22, 2018

Mar 22, 2018 at 6:40 AM UTC

The-Voice

My Poem

I stand in the middle of the room My classmates are commanded to listen to me I am the 14th person to present and so far, everyone has done a good job I stand in the middle of the room I begin to saw the name of my project “My Poem” I cannot remember what it was about I do remember, what I felt I stand in the room, Hoping that everyone feels what I felt when I was writing it I felt excited, my stomach had ‘butterflies’ I think I felt the heat in my heart and the cold on my shoulders. I felt the tingles all over my body, and the air escaping me I stood in the middle of the room I stand in the middle of the room I was in the middle of the room and said “My poem” I heard a chuckle. I ignored it because the ‘in love’ heart in my chest was more excited than It should have been I continues and my voice began to play tricks on me And the r’s rolled and the words were suddenly in another language My mind still ignored it and continues Because I felt I could write, and read this and everyone could love it I stood in the middle of the room, I waited for the, applause, the smiles, the congrats, or even a simple ‘good job’ like everyone else Instead… My teacher said, work on pronunciation. She said it again. Pro-noun-ci-a-tion Ok. ‘Work on grammar.’ ‘Work on sentence structure’ “Work on being American” the chuckle said Or the person who chuckled? It didn’t mean much, you know I loved writing so much that it did not matter I would be a writer, I would continue to STAND in the middle of the room and share my talent And when I did, he chuckled She chuckled, I was Mexican Not a writer. Writers can’t be Mexican Unless you write in Spanish and in Mexico But I was too American for that at this point… SO the next time I wrote I was ashamed, Maybe if someone else wrote my writing? But it didn’t matter, When the teacher began reading, The chuckle reminded the class it was the ‘Mexican’ who wrote it “Mi nina” My mom would say She reminded me that no only was I Mexican I was a woman, Only men thrive in this world I believed it And that is why my name is ‘The Voice’ Not my actually name, Disclosure: I accept criticism on how to better my writing NOT on what to write or on my background