Before I was even conceived my parents had an ideal image of me.
They were the artists and I was their pristine, blank canvas.
That was until their brushes danced along every inch of my frame
leaving me as their new masterpiece.
That was until I destroyed myself to change.
Up until then I was hung "perfectly" on our wall.
Just a centimeter off the original position and I was taken down
abandoned
Left to collect dust.
Trial and error
Trial and error
something I practice often.
The errors I made have left a permanent label on my forehead
"Caution! Will fail and disappoint. Feel free to ask me questions that I'll have to lie about."
So I live behind a mask.
I'm wearing it now.
I'm wearing it now.
But - the only reason you're hearing this is because there's a crack.
A crack in my disguise portraying my undying need for release.
I mean, I just finished my 5 year sentence in a cell
Prison named No Acceptance population #1
Me.
I was nicknamed the cloak of invisibility.
People knew I exist but never saw me
It was better that way.
That is...until someone named Reality ripped my cloak off.
I can't hide under the cloak forever
My mask won't always be spotless
the only way out is to embrace what I have done.
Take my parents' masterpiece and replicate it except from my viewpoint.
Bring my mistakes into a timeless and warm hug
Capture them in a ring and wear them upon my left hand because they'll be closer to my heart.
My mom won't take them as easily as I will.
My hiccups in life won't be cured by holding her breath.
I am the air in her lungs and if you hold your breath for long enough, you won't have me anymore.
*Singing* Tell me how I'm supposed to breathe with no air...
Kendrick went from a *rap* "peasant to a prince to a motha lovin' king."
Now he's a *rap* "black man takin' no losses."
He's like a father to me.
He told me *rap* "we gon' be alright"
and while having him as a fantasy father is nice
I just wish my real one would tell me the same.
I just wish my real one would tell me the same.
Dear mom,
I know it's hard doing this on your own and this'll probably make it a little harder,
but you and my father's masterpiece has been destroyed.
Your picture perfect moment is no longer perfect.
I understand you worked hard
took risks from me
went to Hell and back for me
and did everything you did to not make my frame crooked
but I created my own masterpiece -
graced with my own intentions
hopes
dreams
and wishes.
You're doing all you can for me but I ask you to do one more task...
Visit my art gallery.
Flip through my photo book of images I have taken.
Images of things I want to do
Places I want to go
and people I aspire to be.
I've appreciated your efforts and took them into consideration,
but now can you do the same for me?
By: Santana Outlaw
Wow, this is such an amazing, honest piece about identity struggles. I love the lines about the forehead label. This reminds me a bit in theme of a piece that Sarah shared during writing workshop celebration last week.
ReplyDeleteHi Santana,
ReplyDeleteI really enjoyed the metaphor of masterpiece, and I was wondering if you were thinking of doing anything more with this poem. If so, I wonder if you would want to look for places to tighten the metaphor even more. For example, the poem starts with your parents as painters, and it's clearly a poem that's a letter to a specific set of painters, so if you were to go back in, you might consider rewriting or pulling lines like, "People knew I exist but never saw me" because the reference to 'people' pulls the poem away from specifics and moves to generalities. I especially liked the line about visiting the art gallery. -Bethany
Amazing poem! I am absolutely blown away by the way you've described an experience that is so authentically human. We all feel invisible sometimes-- forced to squeeze into a box that we did not create for ourselves. Needless to say it can be suffocating. I'm glad to see you push back against those box walls and create the mold that showcases your own masterpiece. Please keep writing! You are going to do big things one day.
ReplyDeleteI don't know you but can almost hear your voice - this piece needs to be spoken! Have you ever performed this for others? I think it would be very powerful. You write about the journey of being known - to yourself and then to others. I believe it is one of the most important, and maybe unending, quests of our life. Good for you for having the courage to challenge your parents'ideal of you to build your own unique identity.
ReplyDeleteHi Santana, you have really great comments on your work, fortunately. I would like to hear what you think about the comments. Keep up the good work!:)
ReplyDeleteHi Santana, you have really great comments on your work, fortunately. I would like to hear what you think about the comments. Keep up the good work!:)
ReplyDeleteSantana, you have written a powerful piece in which you describe how parents ideas of what they think their children should be very often conflicts with who they really are as individuals. I especially like the line where you state"My mask won`t always be spotless. The only way out is to embrace what I have done.Take my parent`s masterpiece and replicate it except from my viewpoint".
ReplyDeleteIbelieve that you have written about a topic that we can all relate to. Keep Writing.
Santana, I was so moved by your piece. You speak to the ways in which people grow and interact with one another as we grow and carry new parts of ourselves. I loved the way you were able to illustrate this experience of growing by talking about it within the context of time: you begin with the time before you were born, to hinting at the ideas and ideals that your parents hold, to your own formative experiences, to your unique relationships with both parents, and then to imploring them to see and experience these new parts of you with you, not just from afar or not at all. I loved how you had the reader come full-circle with you in that way.
ReplyDeleteI was intrigued by this line: "I mean, I just finished my 5 year sentence in a cell." I am not sure if you could expand upon this in this poem specifically, but I wondered about what the significance of this line meant. Whay happened in those years? Why 5?
Thank you for sharing this piece. Keep at it!!