The Idea of an Essay, Volume 2

22 to a crowd of teenagers that could, and surely would, judge me. But the other half of me was excited to see what would happen when I let others see the way I saw the world through poetry. So I said yes. I found myself standing in front of a room of teenagers mixed with several adults looking at me, expecting me to say something of worth to them. I could feel the heat of nervousness boiling over inside me as my palms began to sweat. I s-s-stuttered my way through each word, bouncing back and forth from one foot to the other. My eyes clung to the words like a lifeline to avoid the all too real stares of everyone in the room. It felt like I couldn’t get any words out right. They seemed to either all jumble together too quickly, or stick in my throat, refusing to come out. But then it was over, as quickly as it had begun. It was until later that I realized I had actually enjoyed sharing my poem in front of a group. I never would have thought that sharing something that I had kept private for so long could be freeing. Despite the satisfaction of that moment, though, I continued to struggle to share my writing in front of people. In class, in church, or even with close friends, it was difficult. What I have learned over the past few years is that even though it may be a struggle to open up my heart for everyone to see, whenever I do only good has come from it. It has helped me grow closer to those around me, helped me connect with new friends and new teachers. It has always been taught in school that we as students need to become better writers. But what I realized is that, though my writing style has improved greatly, writing was my teacher. Poetry taught me to see the world in a different light. I learned that in order to understand the big things in life, I must first notice the seemingly small, insignificant things that I would usually pass over. Taking criticism from others was always a struggle for me because it took so much courage for me to even share it in the first place. Then when they would critique what I had showed them I seemed to put up the wall again. In time, I realized that not opening myself up to others criticism was holding me back from improving. Poetry again taught me something. Many times I refused to see the mistakes I made, and letting others in to point them out should be considered helpful, not hurtful. Allowing myself to acknowledge the mistakes I made gave me the opportunity to continually grow and change my style of writing. I was able to find the places that felt not