When you hear the word poetry, you might think of light, clever rhymes organized in four line stanzas with a quintessential happy ending and nothing much more than that, but this description barely scratches the surface of actual poetry.

In sixth grade, I read my first poem that deviated from this popular conception — a free-verse poem themed around war. I was shocked to discover that not only did it not rhyme, but it also made zero sense. It seemed like a garbled mess of oddly placed lines and extravagant words that I didn’t care to understand.

I forgot the title of the poem in less than a week, but it cemented my distaste for poetry for a long time. I was thoroughly disheartened by “real” poetry. 

Besides, writing fantasy was my forte, and had been since age 6; preoccupied by dragons and knights, my head had no room for poetry. 

All that changed with quarantine. Being tucked away in my room, far from any social interaction, I was forced into deep introspection. Innovating new ideas for my fantasy stories became tiresome and instead sent me spiraling into a state of questioning. I found myself jotting down my opinions on the real world instead of imaginary ones, which had become bland and one-dimensional to me.

For much of sophomore year, my writing became an outlet for my emotions about world issues. I’d never considered them as anything much more than that until the new National Youth Poet Laureate popped into my Instagram feed in May.

I decided to read a poem by 2021 Laureate Alexandra Huynh, a fellow Northern California native who had seen the destructive effects of the wildfires (which I highly recommend checking out!). For whatever reason, I connected deeply with her words. 

The simplicity behind her poem, with its extremely short lines and eerily spare descriptors of the fires, amplified the complexity behind her anger as a teenager about the negligence surrounding climate change. Huynh effortlessly blended her stance as a vulnerable bystander of the fires into her words to shame the inaction of Americans. 

The fact that I could understand the meaning behind the poem ignited a burning (pun intended) curiosity to figure out how she wove such a simple concept into something so raw and relatable toward the reader. As I sifted through her words, extracting the details that enhanced its message, it hit me that my opinions were also poems, simply waiting to blossom. 

I don’t fully understand how one poem could uproot my adamant apathy about poetry, but I think it’s telling of how powerful the genre can be. Just hours after reading her poem, I was scrolling through poetryfoundation.org with a completely different perspective on the art form. 

I spent the next month researching and digesting countless poems with a fervor. I examined wordplay techniques and structure, learning that every word is carefully chosen and is meaningful to the final product. Reading poems by other people unlocked a completely different angle on how to describe an experience, and it was truthfully inspiring to begin writing one. The more time spent reading poems, the more I wanted to attempt writing one of my own.

Once I finally confronted myself with the task of writing a poem, I gained a newfound respect for poets.  

To me, writing poetry feels like playing a heated game of chess. I found myself sitting at my desk at 2 in the morning. I’d write one or two lines, hold the delete key until my Google Doc was blank again, stare at the blank document and repeat. 

With each word I put down, I paused to think, examining how it sounded aloud, what I wanted the poem to look like visually and how the overarching theme of the poem would be nurtured. Every word I would write was a careful shifting of a pawn or a deft capture by the queen, until the poem revealed to me how to checkmate the king.

I spent an exhausting month creating, rewriting and perfecting my first poem, titled “Dandelions.” The theme revolves around how we may lose sight of our personal interests for society’s sake. The poem ends with lines decrementing in syllables until the last line is “Life,” signifying that we only have one life and shouldn’t blow it away.

My first experience planning and writing a poem took every bit of effort I could muster, but delving into poetry was ultimately one of the best choices I’ve made as a writer. Not only did it reverse my distaste for poetry, but it sparked a true appreciation and respect for the art form. 

To me, a poem is like a puzzle with words. Once you piece the words together, you’re left with a completed painting of something beautiful. While I’m not an expert poet by any means, I’ve found that the process of writing poetry has introduced me to how people share their vastly different experiences through verse.

Some of my favorite poets at the moment include Audre Lorde, Ada Limón and Ocean Vuong. I’m currently reading “On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous” by Vuong, which is easily one of the best books I’ve ever read and is an incredible jump start into the poetic world for newbies like myself.

I find poetry to be slightly misunderstood, especially in a STEM-oriented school like SHS. The time and dedication required to read and write contradicts the fast-paced nature of Saratoga that we all are accustomed to. My experience with poetry forced me to slow down and confront the details that made each poem shine. That careful approach taught me so much about how to appreciate raw, unfiltered storytelling such as poetry. 

Everyone has a powerful story to unravel, and poetry is a beautiful and expressive outlet to tell that story.