Earlier this year, I wrote a piece for the Sinclair Clarion titled, “Reflections and Resolutions of an Optimistic Pessimist.” Here, I explored my goals and aspirations for 2021, such as being more courageous or fearless. Now, seven months have passed since publication, and I would like to share my progress and findings.
Foremost, I feel that I have rediscovered the power of writing and poetry. Within the months preceding 2021, I was met with change. Change, to me, has always been quite terrifying. This, however, was something that I had always expected, perhaps even longer for. Yet, what truly took me aback was how sudden said change occurred and with such great force. In my heart, I knew change was necessary and good, like a bandaid being ripped off, but I didn’t know how to respond. There was a rock churning in my stomach, so to say, and I began to realize its presence.
Shortly, I purchased my current phone, which meant that I would not only have to lovingly bid farewell to my previous phone, KGBiri, but I could finally download TikTok. The app became a staple, and soon, I happened upon a user, John S. Blake or “Black Fluid Poet.” I deeply enjoyed their content as well as their radiance and energy. I began to voraciously listen to their podcast on spotify as I began my morning routine, drew, or did chores. There was a particular episode that I listened to on a difficult evening, dubbed “Coincidence.” Blake divulges “the collective,” love, and “how Saul Williams, Malcolm Jamal Warner, and $200 gave a little girl hope.”
Listening to John S. Blake made me realize something: I’ve been through this before, and so I wrote a poem about it in a sketchbook adorned with stickers:
“I recognize this pain,
This festering, aching ball of sadness,
sitting in the pit of my stomach.
I recall the warm tears fall down my cheeks as I confided in my mother.
I cried, ‘Mom, I am scared of growing up.’
I have always been mortified of oblivion.
Of the unknown.
Change, to me, presents itself as
A formidable tidal wave
That shall soon, like thunder, collide with Earth.
Since I drew my first breath,
I was trusted into the sea,
Consumed by the wave.
I have lived innumerable days
Adrift and lost,
Kicking and screaming and thrashing,
Ensnared by the wave.
Never knowing up from down,
I longed for someone to anchor me.
With adulthood came the death of all joy, the adolescent lamented,
And the things that made life enjoyable.
It is the loss of innocence.
It is the fear of mortality encroaching upon the barren spaces where childhood games and laughter resided.
It is inescapable and inevitable misery.
But then, my mother said to me,
‘There will be so many good things. You’ll see.’
And she was right.
Then, I couldn’t have comprehended all the colors after the wave.
My young mind couldn’t have fathomed all
The beauty and pain,
The pleasure and torment,
The euphoria and the agony.
Looking back,
I can’t help but think, ‘Just watch. Wait. You’ll see.’
In many ways, I am still that child,
Afraid to turn towards the wave and to the storm.
But, it’s a profoundly beautiful thing, really,
To relinquish yourself,
Your mind and body,
Your entire being,
To the will of the universe,
And soon you’ll find yourself floating
Instead of fighting the current.”
Through poetry, I found solace and catharsis. Likewise, I discovered truths about myself as well as an innate strength and resilience. There came a time in late March or early April where I struggled. I felt deeply uninspired and confused. Yet another change was bestowed upon me, and it was overwhelming. For days, whether it be in the morning or late at night, I would write poems. One poem, dubbed “Confession #2,” was inspired by “Green Eyes,” a song by Erykah Badu.
“That familiar, festering
Aching pain is a flame within my heart
Once more.
My mind cannot put out the thought of you.
Flickering, dying embers illuminate my vibrant green eyes,
Alert with anxiety.
Tinged by insecurity and envy.
I cannot have you,
For the alluring breeze whispers,
calling for the debris to be carried away all too quickly.
Yet, I lunged forward in pursuit,
A desperate plea.
An unmistakable cry.
My fingertips were just within your reach,
But I stand alone, empty-handed, and defeated.
Green eyes are aflame and ripe.
How naive and selfish.”
In response to this change, I remembered that this, too, shall pass, and perhaps this shall serve as a catalyst for much-needed growth. Once more, it has, admittedly, in unexpected ways.
While writing this, I feel that I have inadvertently achieved some of my resolutions, even if I felt otherwise at the time. I know that I still have much improvement to make, as well as so much to learn and experience. Within the months since I wrote “Reflections and Resolutions of an Optimistic Pessimist,” my life has changed in many ways, and as daunting as it may be, I am excited for what has yet to come. I have resounding faith in those that both love and support me, and I believe that I’m learning to share that trust in me. Always, I’ll write.
Taylor Pendleton
Contributing Writer