THE CREATION OF "CLAIMING TO BE MAGIC" BY, SHANNA T. MELTON

My essay is published on FREEDOMVERSECAFE.COM

http://www.freedomversecafe.com/2009/10/what-happened-to-poetry-days.html

THINKING A LOT LATELY

Monday, October 5, 2009 was my first of many with the high school poetry group I am leading. It was amazing because I realized, as anticipated, that this situation is going to allow us to learn from each other. One of the students made it to the youth nationals last year and spoke on how the hotel she stayed in was full of poets and when you walked down the hall you could listen to people rehearsing poetry and having ciphers. She described herself cipher hopping and how each place she went was one of support and positivity. “When you get around other poets, it’s like how they described hippies except it’s today. Everyone just wants to share their work and work with you on yours. The conversations are just so full of love.” I am listening to her and watching her eyes brighten with each word as I remember that feeling of love she speaks of so fondly.

There was a time when I would anticipate gathering with my friends/fellow poets for ciphers. It was sure to be a night where I learned, wrote, and connected with like minds. All the new work we created would fill the room and we would talk about what we enjoyed and needed to fix in the poems. We would be at slams and the poets competing would boo the judges for not scoring our friends fairly. I took the train to the Harlem Book Fair one summer and met a judge from the Peabody Slam who asked me why we get so mad when people get low scores and it’s a competition. People in the slam were rooting for their competitors. I explained to him that friendship came before competition and when it doesn’t feel right we have to speak up. He still looked confused; it seemed that he thought it should be the other way around in that moment. I never questioned the loyalty and love we share as fellow poets who are building a community and network of support.

There was a time when I was the only poet I knew. My poetry was something personal that I never thought anyone could relate to or appreciate because my words were just songs in my head. It was such a blessing the first time I went to Brooklyn and sat in “Wordspace” and had Tantra introduce me as “this beautiful sista’ she recently met in Connecticut.” For so long I wanted to live that dream of not being the only one who loves the way words taste and finally I discover that there are multiple versions of me and they are good, supportive, motivated, inspirational people who saw and heard my spirit. They validated my passion for art and encouraged me to work towards making myself visible.

Then I joined Blackout Boston and saw that open mics can be combined with theatre and community service. Oh my goodness!!! Poetry can heal me and make the community stronger, yes, I will proudly have a hand in this beauty. Then, after years of being a poet elsewhere, I came home. I met people who I wished to have grown up with because that short time of becoming closely knit proved for the third time that your extended family could be friends who happen to be poets. Life might make more sense now.

I can’t say I would allow anyone to change my passion for poems and sharing what I write. Poems got me through the hardest times of my life and I know that they were given to me to share. Everyone doesn’t feel that way and they don’t have to because each person has an individual motivation and journey. It wasn’t until I was in Atlanta this summer and had no direction about where to go and share my poetry that I truly appreciated what we have here among this community of poets. Sheron eventually got me to Urban Grind and I ran into Warrior and felt at home with a familiar poet/friend. While I was sharing there was a strange feeling of missing the love energy of people here who I have built with for so long. I was so fed up before I left because there was so much mess that I want no parts of but when I did not have a cushion with people who love me the good outweighed the bad. I realized I had to focus more on the good, genuine love that surrounds me because it will always conquer the negativity. It seems that I spend much of my time alone but when I came home it was a deliberate decision to release the energy I question too often. That wasn’t intended to hurt anyone; it was simply to save myself from disliking this experience.

Life is so much bigger than its moments. I went to Georgia to face my fear and my dad about the way I am hurt. It was past time for me to meet my baby brother and love him in real life. After one of the conversations I had with Alicia earlier in the year I decided I would work on forgiving hurts because they were guiding my life. That was the biggest hurt that I needed to liberate myself from. My resign to be forgiving was tested when friendships I had given up on came back from many angles and I had to confront my hurt and anger in them before I could even discuss being friends again. The thing I found is that being honest instead of passive about my feelings encouraged discussion and healing. Even if things aren’t as tight as before, they can exist differently. I received a lot of clarity in 2009 and I often thought it was more than I could handle but it was really a lesson of strength and I am doing my best to pass the course.

So it was two weeks ago that I found out Zannette had cancer and even in her description of her ordeal I could only see past her pain to her survival story. No one would have convinced me that she wouldn’t be in front of an auditorium of people representing cancer survivors and advocating medical research and awareness. There is no way someone could have gotten away with telling me she wouldn’t be beside Ngoma walking into poetry with bags and instruments in hand listening with her eyes closed so she could focus on our words. I would have never believed we wouldn’t be sitting side by side chatting it up about life in the quiet moments we stole between poems and while talking about events. Never. Zannette transitioned one week to the day that I learned of her having cancer. Never. I spent the entire Sunday before convincing her that there is hope because we needed her to believe and see her survival story. She said one of the things she loved most was listening to poems and being around poets, and that is how her life was spent. She surrounded herself with artists of all forms and created events and venues for them to be showcased because it was her passion.

Watching Ngoma walk the pale blue halls of this church with tears in his eyes is a something I will never forget because I know the love he had for this woman who loved him equally. I saw their laughter and eye conversations. It made sense that they would tell each other the truth and keep track of the path the other chose to follow. It made sense.

If I refer to someone as my friend or family it is not about being nice or shallow. It is because I found beauty inside of them that can be compared to none and it is imperative to surround yourself with beauty. The fight I have left will be reserved for people who make sense and love me equally. It will be for people like Sheree and Sheron who stood behind me while I faced my fears so that they could dry my face and keep me focused. Sheree, head bobbing and locks swinging, challenged me many times when I didn’t want to make the call or show up, “you gonna let fear guide you Shanna…hmmmmph…we don’t do that ‘round here.” Buddha, who came down and made it alright to be there for a few extra days because we got to have an experience in another place as friends who love art and each other’s company. It is reserved for everyone who affirms light, life, love, and flaws. All we do may never be perfect, but it is part of who we are no matter how ugly and/or beautiful. It is an individual decision to love it or leave it alone. It is reserved for people who drum me towards the light in life and transition. My fight is for people who encourage me to be a friend who loves them equally.

Love.
Shanna
10. 7. 2009