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Kathryn Kwon

Dr. Smith

English 101 D15A

20 September 2019

Pride: A Rarity of My Writing

Comfort is something I’ve never found easily. In a house where loneliness was common,

I relied on school and church to fill in my empty spots. Specifically, I relied on my English class.

Not because I excelled in writing, but because I found a certain joy and solace in it. Despite that I

rarely found myself proud or ever boastful of my own work. However, one of the few times I’ve

been satisfied with what I’ve written was in my first year of high school.

At my high school, freshmen were required to take two English courses. On one hand,

there was Honors English, a traditional English class where I would read great pieces of

literature, have discussions, and write papers in response. On the other hand, there was Writing

Process, a class that focused on the aspects of how to write, ways to properly present and speak,

and the different genres of literature. Honors English provided me food for thought and made me

think deeper about popular traditional texts, while Writing Process allowed me the opportunity to

fall in love with the literature I studied. Moreover, Writing Process introduced me to the world of

slam poetry.

I remember walking into my Writing Process class towards the end of my first year in

high school. My teacher had put up a YouTube video on the SmartBoard and turned the lights off

once everyone was seated. Oftentimes it was hard for me to see and hear what was happening at

the front of the room, but when the video started it was like I was sitting front row at the show.

The outside world disappeared as words and emotions were thrown at me, my eyes following the
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performer and her every movement. I sat hands gripping my chair and my body tense from

anticipation. When she took a meaningful pause amidst the rollercoaster ride that her poem was,

my breath caught in my throat and my thundering heartbeat felt too loud despite the deafening

silence. Eventually she continued, with softer words now, and I leaned forward instinctively,

staying like that until the end. Once the audience started snapping, I was pulled out of my trance.

Classroom chatter faded back into focus as light flooded in, my teacher stood next to the light

switch gauging our reactions before she started her lesson. Slowly, I pried my fingers off my

chair and relaxed into my chair, still in awe from what I had just experienced.

Over the course of the four-minute video, a newfound desire had grown in me. I became

enamored with slam poetry. Thinking back, I remember having spent hours watching slam

videos and reading slam poems. Before then I don't remember ever wanting to boast my writing

or any of my art, but suddenly I wanted to write something that was worth sharing. After some

time, I decided to start my first slam poem. In the beginning it was difficult, but eventually the

words flowed easily out of me and onto paper. I had never felt so much overflowing creativity,

and I was eager to write before this feeling faded away.

“Society’s Tormentors” was the title of my first slam poem. It was a social commentary

poem emphasizing the need for change considering our harmful behaviors towards each other

due to social media. When I finished writing, the moon was up, and my house was silent. The

brightness of my desk lamp was the only source of light in my house. I looked at my computer

screen, eyes skimming across the words once more, and I smiled. I was so proud of my writing.

Not only was it because I thought my chosen topic within the genre of social commentary poetry

was well thought out, but also because it fit my definition of good writing at that time. Of course,

my poem wasn’t perfect, perfection isn’t achievable, but it was great and that meant something
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to me. Most of the time I’m my harshest critic, but I was satisfied with what I had written for

once.

When the time came, my class was divided into groups for the performance of our

poems. Like that first slam poem video I saw, I will never forget the experience of performing

“Society’s Tormentors.” Our slam poetry showing was held in the library where groups of

seniors were chosen to judge our deliverance. My group was set to go towards the beginning of

the lineup, and I was considerably anxious for two reasons. First, I had, and still have, an anxiety

disorder which made things significantly difficult. Past that, though, I was anxious because this

poem was great in my eyes. So, as a result, I had set high expectations for myself.

After some time, my turn to perform came. I stood up and glanced at the seniors who sat

lined up next to each other at a table in front of me. Already, my hands were clammy, my legs

starting to shake, but this poem meant too much to me to let my anxiety dictate me. So, with fear

coursing through my body, I began. The hours I spent rehearsing showed through despite my

slightly wavering voice and jelly limbs. As I continued, I held onto the pride and satisfaction I

felt about this poem to remind myself that I needed to do this properly because for once, my

work was something I considered worth sharing. With a still trembling voice, I came to the end

and was met with a crowd of enthusiastic snapping.

Still I don’t think I’ve experienced the same pride I did for my first slam poem for any of

my other works. To say that slam poetry was pivotal in my attitudes towards writing would be an

understatement. Slam poetry and that satisfaction I felt towards my work allowed me to dive

deeper into the world of writing and explore. Even now, it motivates me to be a better writer and

to create greater things than I already have.