Little did I know, taking a poetry class means other people have to read my poetry…

In theory, I love creative writing. Poems and stories and journaling is 100% my shit, and my Notes App can attest to that. I am always writing about the most random stuff, and I honestly thought I was decently good at it. So when it came time to take my Arts & Humanities requirement, I thought why not take a creative writing class?

Of course, part of me always knew that taking such a class would require me to share my work with others. However, I was completely unprepared for the creative writing workshop experience. If you, like me, haven’t taken an English class since high school, let me break it down for you:

• A group of students are up to present their work every week.
• They read their poem to the class.
• The class gives their thoughts, questions, and suggestions.
• We move on to the next person.

Sounds easy, right? WRONG. Despite my class being filled with the most kind and lovely people who always have good things to say, I swear these people’s brains live on a different plane of existence. How are they pulling out these insane metaphors and comparisons? Some of their work is so good and I couldn’t even dream of being that creative.

So I walked into class the other day ready for my first ever workshop and I went first. It was smooth sailing, albeit slightly terrifying. Everyone was offering comments and asking questions. I got to talk about my work and take down suggestions for how I can improve. My portion of the workshop wasn’t the problem.

I can only describe the poems that followed mine as ethereal. They were simply beautiful. From the concepts to the language to the imagery, I sat there and considered myself severely humbled as I tried to form concise thoughts I could contribute to the discussion. I don’t think that anyone else even noticed or remembered how simple my piece was, but I felt the most out of my element I think I’ve ever felt.

You could tell there was a different energy when the rest of my group read their work. Everyone was in awe, almost to the point where they didn’t know what to say. But of course, they made astute and thoughtful comments, breaking down the poem’s lines and drawing out meaning I had no idea was even there.

For my next poem, I will definitely be stepping up my game. Get ready for the most flowery, English-major poetic poems you have ever seen. Who knows, maybe one of them will show up in the Bwog lineup next week!

Image via Bwog Archive