You are a poet

I gave birth to a poem that I wrote many weeks ago. I gave birth to it in a room of other poets, some just learning, others very good at the rhythm of words. It was a high and a low, and a nervous, frightening, but empowering experience. I walked like the girl who could write a poem like that. I walked today like someone who was full of the confidence that a poem like that creates inside you.

It was real, it was slam, it was expression and art. Afterwards, I felt faint and fell onto the couch and said, "Who am I?" I laughed, shook my head and asked again, "Who am I?" aloud. I shocked myself.

John shook his head, smiled and said, "I don't know. This is too real. This is too real."

And it was.

I seem to be dragging my friends into the most uncomfortable, yet interesting experiences lately. First it was the Dub poetry workshop/slam, then it was that strange play. Tomorrow laptop orchestra.

Keepin' it real, keepin' it strange.

I feel unpredictable.

Today:

I lost my student card.

14th consecutive day of wearing a dress or skirt

started to photo-document food (for school)