10 April 2012
The other day I was at a 'Writer's Workshop' with only 3 others and people from different schools.One of the tasks we were set was to write a poem about a memory of a person or moment or place which we especially loved. I chose to write about my Grandpa who passed away after being paralysed from his neck down last year (my Granny hadn't died yet). So I wrote down memories, things, words he had said and I shaped it into a page long poem. i might put it up here some other time but not now. After my teacher read it, he started on all this shiz about 'oh you need to use more similes and metaphors' and in my hea I was like: 'What the f**k? Bu**er off and mind your own buisness!' But I said: 'Oh, yes of course Mr. ****,' pretending to listen and take interest in what he was saying. But when he walked away, I just sat there and didn't work. Because I believe, that poetry comes from the heart (well, the brain effectively but that's what people say. It's a bit weird really);which no amount of tugging or prodding can change. What I wanted to do was stand up in the room, slap Mr. ****, and shout: 'You don't tell me what to do you fat old bas**rd!' But I didn't, For obvious reasons which I can't be bothered to explain. The reason I wrote thsi whole thing was, I guess, to tell you that your feelings and actions make up you, and you alone. So don't let anyone push you around or, tell you what to do (unless it's a teacher, on most occasions) because you are yourself; and nothing or anyone should be allowed to take that freedom, and that power, away from you.
Joey x
LIFE IS YOURS • Opuss № I