She's a Writer

“Hey, I really enjoyed what you shared today. It was really good,” thanked Dee Jay, visiting poet, heading out the door.

“Thanks.” I looked up from the papers I was quickly filing between classes.

“She’s a writer,” Teresa, from the District Office, explained as the door closed behind them, on their way to the airport.

She’s a writer. SHE’s a writer. She’s a WRITER! Those words echoed over me all afternoon.

Dee Jay DeRego was a guest speaker in my classroom today. He is a spoken word master from Juneau who has traveled the world sharing this art form. He writes and recites poetry, but it’s so much more than that. He bares his soul, causes the listener to reflect, and teaches students to do the same.

The highlight for me was when he recited his own “I am from…” poem, reflecting back on growing up homeless, filled with metaphors and descriptive language. He then gave the class five minutes to begin writing where they were from. After walking around the room for the first minute getting all of the students settled in to the task at hand, I sat with my own notebook and favorite blue ink pen. I began to write.

I am from broken hearts and broken homes,

Shattered dreams and drowning tears,

All washed away in this fast moving river called Life.

I am from second chances

Rising above the horizon like a late sunrise on a winter’s day.

That’s when he called time. A couple of students couldn’t manage to put their pens down and kept writing as he began talking again. I actually love when that happens.

It was difficult for me to share, and I wasn’t going to at first, but none of the students volunteered to share and I wanted to set a good example.

I thought about and shared how's it interesting to see how our "I am" poems change through the years. I've written them before when they felt more fact-based and less emotional. Today, my emotions are open wounds across my face as I begin to mourn the loss of a teaching job that I love, going up in flames around me, no water to end the fire. However, my next dream is rising from the ashes and gives me hope that all is not lost.

What stuck with me the most about the experience were those three words Teresa spoke as they walked out the door. I’ve always struggled with identifying myself as such, never taken it too seriously. However, that’s who I am. That’s who I’m becoming. It’s time to jump into the deep end of the pool and do this. I look forward to the next time I hear someone say,

“She’s a writer.”