Be it the online world or the world of reality and human interaction, I always find it amazing to realize that no two sets of eyes will see a situation in the same way. From eyewitness accounts of a crime, to in-class discussions of poetry and life. The eyes see but it is the individual brain that interprets.

Before I was forced to leave collage due to an onset of MS, I had the opportunity to take part in one of the higher poetry classes. We created our rhyming (or not so rhythmic) verses, before sitting before one another in judgment. I would read my piece, then listen as my fellow classmates discussed meaning and intent. They took in my words and decided the why’s and how’s hidden within. This fascinated me. Which most likely wasn’t the point of the exercises, but I decided to create a piece worthy of what I was seeing.

“The Written Word”

 Not for distribution outside Author’s Permission © Tracey Clark

throw me down

mark me up

violate me

and tear me apart

read into what I say

take away what you will

but leave my pieces

for the mending maker to wield

For the first time in class, everyone seemed to agree. I allowed my family and friends to read what I had created, and they also said the same things. Oh, there were small differences of opinion, but for the most part, they were all in agreement. Suddenly, I was the only one able to look at my words without seeing the plight of a rape victim.

In a small way, they were correct. It was about a violation, but not one of human flesh. I had put into words what I thought my poetry would say to my classmates. If the written words could stand up for themselves, surely they would complain about the evils of man.

I knew that my poetry, and now my novels, would look at the wielders of the evil red pen with distaste, and fear. I knew that each and every word shook in terror, while hearing that they were unnecessary or too harsh. But I also knew that I was responsible for the whole of the work. It was, and is, my job to make sure that the worlds I create come out of each edit whole. Be it poetry, novel, or art of any ilk, I am responsible for the life I create, my babies. 😛

But how am I supposed to present my words, when the eyes before me will only be able to see/understand small portions of my creation, never able to take in the whole of it. Eyes and brains function differently, depending on age, life lessons, preconceived notions, etc … Not to mention the medium that my work/words are viewed through. Twitter is an excellent example of this point. This frustrating point.

I came across a post on twitter that took my mind back to those earlier poetry classes. A beautiful representation of some of my own words. A visual point of view of my inner voices.

Posted by

The Female Book @thefemaleboook

“If u could change one thing about ur body, what would u change?” Answered by 6 adults & then by 6 kids.

I started thinking of all the ways that we lose the magic in our lives. At some point it seems to become automatic. We lose the ability to answer questions with the fantasy and dreaming of a child. I mean, the adult answer of wanting to become taller is no more realistic than the childlike wonder of growing wings. Most adults need that extra second or two in order to see the world hidden behind the forced reality of adulthood. I read this post and felt compelled to ask the twitter-verse at large what they believed had happened to take these wonders from our eyes, how we could get that wonder back?

But the 140 characters of a twitter response allows for much confusion. I had forgotten the lessons learned from my poetry class. I looked at this post and remembered a different poem.

“I wonder of the world”

Not for distribution outside Author’s Permission © Tracey Clark

I wonder of the world

That happens all the day

The innocent abyss

That comes when children play

I wonder how they stay

In their place and time

When they climb a mountain

Or swim the ocean wide

I wonder if they know

There’s no one really there

I wonder if they see

Their friends are made of air

I wonder if they know

Their mountain is a hill

Or that the ocean blue

A rocky shore that’s still

I wonder what they see

When in their jungle hut

Or how they learn to tame

Their wild jungle mutts

I wonder of this world

That happens all the day

And I wonder how I lost

My innocent days of play

An author that I greatly respect, and admire, saw my comment and thought that I was worried about body images, which was reflected in her response. I was mortified, and still not thinking of my poetry life lesson. So I tried to clear the misunderstanding up. Which did what???? Made things worse of course. I replied that I was actually talking about losing childlike wonder. Soooooo … the matter was cleared up, right????? Nope. That would be insane logic.

She responded that she couldn’t help with that type of question, because she still saw the magic of the world around her, because she was a writer. All of which made me look like an unimaginative layman with body issues. lol

Moral of the story…. be careful when you dissect another’s words, and remember that if you put it in black and white, someone else will be sure to find their own meaning hidden inside.

happy wordage everyone, Tracey