Introduction + A Poem (Chalk)

I’m going to address the elephant in the room here and venture that first blog posts are awkward and scary for everybody. As this is the first post of my voice, I suppose I should introduce myself. Blogging has always been an interest of mine—especially after watching BBC’s Sherlock, where Watson regularly blogs of their adventures—and I’ve finally plucked up the nerve to do it. Actually, a friend I met this summer has a blog, and that was the final push for me.

So, to shed some perspective of what experiences are behind this voice, here are some basics. I’m going to be a senior in high school this year, and have lived in Pennsylvania all my life. My deepest passion is music and its ability to make us feel. Obviously, I also love to write and to read. I hope to be able to inspire my readers, or at least offer a new perspective of some sort. It’s possible I may have some posts from time to time relating to music, but I am in no way an expert, nor do I know enough to consistently recount share-worthy experiences or advice concerning one topic. I envision using this site to share what I write (mostly poems), recount interesting experiences, and to reflect on the world around me as I try to establish myself in it.

As school swiftly approaches, I figured I’d share a poem about a common classroom object, chalk. I wrote this at a writing camp that I attended over the summer, and hope you enjoy.

Chalk

Sarah Leeann

The pale pillars in fragile formation

stand waiting inside

their thin-walled safety.

To live is to deteriorate,

but to hide—well, that’s not living at all.

The chalk generously shares itself

to all generations

with no discrimination.

Its existence is fleeting, but its

messages, lessons,

those are stored within us,

intangible.

Every student

has been shaped by these warriors,

surviving to educate, but, more importantly,

to express, screaming

if need be.

Even their dust nestles itself

into our unfortunate black clothes,

into the pores of our fingertips,

inevitably sinking into our lungs.

Come out, come out,

and do not fear the eraser,

for you will rise into the crisp air and

be carried off by the sweet breeze,

subtly soaking into this world,

this life.

~7/12/16

"One day, your heart will stop beating, and none of your fears will matter. What will matter is how you lived." --Henri Junttila