I don’t have enough pain for poetry. These days, I sit silently at the sill of a ten foot window in an old, Victorian, house-wood bench on a wood floor, cracking claw foot tub, a cobra vertebrae staircase snaking its way to the roof. I see the outside world, the trees in absolute green, I see the sky undoubtful of its blue and do not feel the need to add to the silence. When I was young, I wanted my words on everything, scroll my body into ledger, inscribe my name on every lover, my pain on every audience, writing, “mine”, “mine”, “mine”, across their faces, I used to dream of a beautiful exsanguination, cutting my wrists, blood a fountain pen across the walls asking everyone to read enjambment between the hemoglobin to see how the line’s enjambment breathed. But then, I grew lucky, or grew up, or grew roots, or grew God, and grew students, which meant I grew really careful and also thankful but then really careful again, about how I take care of an audience, how not to saddle them with my baggage without offering them a canteen in return, teach my students about what is valuable, about what deserves a poem, asking them to find their identity in more than just their suffering, your stories are not one note so don’t make everything chorus, a eulogy, when your life deserves an ode. You will care about the craft. You will not snap at lines simply because they’re the most traumatic; we survive trauma but keep living because someone loved us, once, if only briefly, carried us like groceries, held us in the brown paper bag of their laugh, can’t you hear it rustling? So, I celebrated Sequoya, and her platonic love, how when her best friend enters the room her voice became a whole ecosystem, and nobody died, and I celebrated Ameera, and her poem about impulse buys, and her extra innocent yellow number five love of juicy fruit gum, and nobody died, and I celebrated Heavenly, and her poem about basketball, and learning hard life lessons, no matter how badly she wanted to write over and over “my mother doesn’t love me” and maybe some people died but my students survived and isn’t that worth all the words I could muster? I tell them, “You can write about it to purge, but no, I will not allow you to rehearse a poem that hollows you, because your blood is not a fossil fuel, we can excavate so deeply, go below the bones, that we can exhume our souls and don’t know how to put it back,” so there will be no offshore drilling in this poem. There will be no fracking of my pain, no North Dakota pipeline out of my veins, I sit in this Victorian House with mint trim and mint closets, which contain pictures of the clan, and choose not to write about them. Don’t even let them see the light of day. Instead, I savor the taste of lemonade, thanking God for Beyoncé and sugar water, thanking God for dollar slices of pie and clockwork towns that close at six, thankful for strangers who invite me over for dinner, and churches on every corner; at least here, I know there will always be someone to feed me, and pray with me, and isn’t that sometimes a reason to be silent? Have a moment of gratitude, look out the window, sighing contentedly under its arched brow; this is not naïve optimism. This is rigor. This is craft, this is calling what be not as though it is, this is creation. I had to minister to myself, had to learn the alchemy and then lend the words; I had to remember my joy, had to speak it into being, and when I looked up from my blood-soaked hands, I saw that it was good.
"I tell them you can write about it to purge, but know that I wont allow you to rehearse a poem that will hollow you." Holy smokes that line was epic. This was a beautiful piece, and I loved the emotion you put into it. Well done and well performed.
Alysia has taught me all I know about writing I've learned from all the experiences she has spoken into poetry and consider her to be one of my biggest inspirations
The bird that Youngjae holds in the Hard Carry MV. At first I was like this comment is everything. And then I started freaking out to see a fellow igot7 here. Love your username, totally 100% agree with your comment.
To know and be coached by such an amazing woman like you is a gift in itself. But to be mentioned in a poem by a Poetry Goddess as yourself is an honor.
All of your performances just give my body chills. I love this poem and very much relate to it, I use to think that filling my hollow with sad poems it would be easier than pushing myself to think about the good things. When I finally recovered, I thought my happy was not worth the ink and paper because nobody wants to hear about your small prides.
she is the person that started my journey into poetry. she's a major reason why I write to this day. if you haven't ordered her book you should, it's worth every cent
Wow. I've been wondering how to handle the mixture of my students and poetry without just focusing on their pain, but this is it. This is how you remember to look at everything.
Amazing! 👏👏 Wonderfully explained how the every day life and gratitude, small details and minor achievements matter and can be a reason for great art. Praise the Lord for your life, your suffering and happiness.
her words are so powerful & her attitude is relatable to me so I love her poetry. she performed at my school last winter & it was my favorite event to date💕💕
Oh, I love this poem. It has entirely changed the way I create and think about my art. I don't remember how I found it or what inspired her to write it in the first place, but I'm so glad this poem exists. Thank you.
I am so in love with her journey & growth. This is such a necessary reminder because I feel pressure to be brooding poet all the time! So much so, I forget that gratitude is worthy of writing
I have memorized so many poems about my suffering that the stanzas will never leave my mind and neither will the pain. I dont know how to write about anything else.
yes poetry should not be all about the trauma around you, it's important to expand your horizons and dive deep into the art of poetry so that you can not be limited to pain or tragedy because life is so much more.
Rxchel Xoxo Well, in general, she's telling poets not to focus only on their traumas, because it's not good for them, and the good things deserve to be written about too. Was their any specific part you didn't get?
She says "mine, mine, mine" and moves her hands and slicing the air as if she is moving the hands of a clock on the wall www.sparknotes.com/lit/clockworkorange/summary.html
"We survived trauma but kept living because someone loved us once." Infinite snaps
LionessCrownedWithLove I love your username
"Find your identity in more than just your suffering" I adore this
I like how she is reading from a device but it still sounds like if she's reading from memory. Beauty full😍😵😍😵
It's called rehearsal :D
I don’t have enough pain for poetry. These days, I sit silently at the sill of a ten foot window in an old, Victorian, house-wood bench on a wood floor, cracking claw foot tub, a cobra vertebrae staircase snaking its way to the roof. I see the outside world, the trees in absolute green, I see the sky undoubtful of its blue and do not feel the need to add to the silence. When I was young, I wanted my words on everything, scroll my body into ledger, inscribe my name on every lover, my pain on every audience, writing, “mine”, “mine”, “mine”, across their faces, I used to dream of a beautiful exsanguination, cutting my wrists, blood a fountain pen across the walls asking everyone to read enjambment between the hemoglobin to see how the line’s enjambment breathed.
But then, I grew lucky, or grew up, or grew roots, or grew God, and grew students, which meant I grew really careful and also thankful but then really careful again, about how I take care of an audience, how not to saddle them with my baggage without offering them a canteen in return, teach my students about what is valuable, about what deserves a poem, asking them to find their identity in more than just their suffering, your stories are not one note so don’t make everything chorus, a eulogy, when your life deserves an ode. You will care about the craft. You will not snap at lines simply because they’re the most traumatic; we survive trauma but keep living because someone loved us, once, if only briefly, carried us like groceries, held us in the brown paper bag of their laugh, can’t you hear it rustling?
So, I celebrated Sequoya, and her platonic love, how when her best friend enters the room her voice became a whole ecosystem, and nobody died, and I celebrated Ameera, and her poem about impulse buys, and her extra innocent yellow number five love of juicy fruit gum, and nobody died, and I celebrated Heavenly, and her poem about basketball, and learning hard life lessons, no matter how badly she wanted to write over and over “my mother doesn’t love me” and maybe some people died but my students survived and isn’t that worth all the words I could muster?
I tell them, “You can write about it to purge, but no, I will not allow you to rehearse a poem that hollows you, because your blood is not a fossil fuel, we can excavate so deeply, go below the bones, that we can exhume our souls and don’t know how to put it back,” so there will be no offshore drilling in this poem. There will be no fracking of my pain, no North Dakota pipeline out of my veins, I sit in this Victorian House with mint trim and mint closets, which contain pictures of the clan, and choose not to write about them. Don’t even let them see the light of day.
Instead, I savor the taste of lemonade, thanking God for Beyoncé and sugar water, thanking God for dollar slices of pie and clockwork towns that close at six, thankful for strangers who invite me over for dinner, and churches on every corner; at least here, I know there will always be someone to feed me, and pray with me, and isn’t that sometimes a reason to be silent? Have a moment of gratitude, look out the window, sighing contentedly under its arched brow; this is not naïve optimism. This is rigor. This is craft, this is calling what be not as though it is, this is creation. I had to minister to myself, had to learn the alchemy and then lend the words; I had to remember my joy, had to speak it into being, and when I looked up from my blood-soaked hands, I saw that it was good.
this is a really important poem because so many artists just right about suffering and we dont have to go into our worsts to get good pieces
"I tell them you can write about it to purge, but know that I wont allow you to rehearse a poem that will hollow you." Holy smokes that line was epic. This was a beautiful piece, and I loved the emotion you put into it. Well done and well performed.
Alysia has taught me all I know about writing I've learned from all the experiences she has spoken into poetry and consider her to be one of my biggest inspirations
My favorite spoken word artist is back. I love how her poems has evolved since "That Girl".
Tanicia Pratt yes!!! I found her and the rest of strivers row from that piece. I love it!
*art.*
The bird that Youngjae holds in the Hard Carry MV. At first I was like this comment is everything. And then I started freaking out to see a fellow igot7 here. Love your username, totally 100% agree with your comment.
winglessburst ❤❤❤
this was mind blowing. I can't even count the ways in which it spoke to me.
Morgan Smizz exactly!
Amen, sister!
How healing it is to choose---
instead of wringing out our pain---
to ring out our praise!
To know and be coached by such an amazing woman like you is a gift in itself. But to be mentioned in a poem by a Poetry Goddess as yourself is an honor.
❤️🔥❤️🔥
All of your performances just give my body chills. I love this poem and very much relate to it, I use to think that filling my hollow with sad poems it would be easier than pushing myself to think about the good things. When I finally recovered, I thought my happy was not worth the ink and paper because nobody wants to hear about your small prides.
she is the person that started my journey into poetry. she's a major reason why I write to this day. if you haven't ordered her book you should, it's worth every cent
alexis saeyang what's her book called? i'd like to read it.
I just heard about it. Fina go look it up.
I love how there are no dislikes... makes me hopeful for humanity. Usually there's at least one person that feels the need to spread their negativity.
The imagery in this piece is beyond amazing
* snaps fingers *YAAAS SIS TELL EM ! the fact you gave me goosebumps .
Oh, how I've missed her.
Wow. I've been wondering how to handle the mixture of my students and poetry without just focusing on their pain, but this is it. This is how you remember to look at everything.
I got goosebumps...
Thanks
Added to my creativity inspiration playlist - I feel this message is a necessary reminder for poets, who get lost in writing poems from pain.
2021 and still here. I love her and her poems.
I come back to this poem often. Thank you, Alysia. I would so love to be a student of yours some day.
I finally understand this poem now. Thank you, Alysia. 🤎
This is so beautiful. Thank God for Alysia blessing us with this poem, so inspiring
It’s incredible how words travel through space in time in our current era. This is everything I needed to hear. God is always at work.
This such a beautiful and powerful poem.
Amazing! 👏👏 Wonderfully explained how the every day life and gratitude, small details and minor achievements matter and can be a reason for great art. Praise the Lord for your life, your suffering and happiness.
I felt my heart expand when I saw a new poem from Alysia. My favorite.
her words are so powerful & her attitude is relatable to me so I love her poetry. she performed at my school last winter & it was my favorite event to date💕💕
im so proud that this is from my state
what state?
Caroline Gray minnesota !!
I've missed her.
Oh, I love this poem. It has entirely changed the way I create and think about my art. I don't remember how I found it or what inspired her to write it in the first place, but I'm so glad this poem exists. Thank you.
I am so in love with her journey & growth. This is such a necessary reminder because I feel pressure to be brooding poet all the time! So much so, I forget that gratitude is worthy of writing
this piece is EVERYTHING! My God
oh my god this is amazing
I remember being younger and watching her on bnv. Alysia is honestly one of the reasons why I even picked up the pen
💜
I love her “old soul” energy 🔥❤️❤️🥰
I am so grateful for this and do many of her other poems.
this is fantastic
She always makes me tear up..
I have memorized so many poems about my suffering that the stanzas will never leave my mind and neither will the pain. I dont know how to write about anything else.
wow😢❤️ so much pain in one voice, so truthful, a beautiful performance
This literally made me sit up from bed because I really felt this poem! I would love for her to be my teacher
Omg I clicked on this so fast. I've missed seeing her and hearing her poetry!!!
Just when I thought I couldn’t love this woman more
i haven't had a poem hit me this hard in such a long time. thank-you for this
Wow, I remember way back when she performed her "That Girl" poem. it's been a while, she's amazing.
This poem is everything!
She is who I want my daughter to be, I love her poetry
ohhhhhh wow this is so good and really spoke to me.
This is so magnificent... I am beyond words.
my favorite poet is back 😩❤️
What a beauty that poem is !
Thank you.
one of the best.
I needed this. I really did.
forever my fave
I don't have enough pain for poetry. Oh my loving blessed God!
I don't think I can move.
you delivered it so good! you did great for making me sad
Holy shit this poem might be my wake up call.
my first fave is back. I need to get back into my poetry, maybe this'll inspire me
Powerful. Perspective is vital
love her.
..."the trees is absolutely green
.."
🌲 🌳 🌴 🌲 🌳
This is beautiful and refreshing!! 😩😍
This is wonderful
Soooo powerful💓
loved it
So raw
this is beautiful, and necessary
this is beautiful omg
This is amazing. 😍
Love this piece.
Beautiful performance
incredible
❤❤❤
This poem changed something in me
WOW
❤❤❤❤❤
this one..... struck a nerve. goodness gracious alive
🔥
Yo, this almost made me subscribe. wow.
'I don't have enough pain for poetry' wow
holy shit, that was good. I was transfixed.
Now I want to write about the good things.
yes poetry should not be all about the trauma around you, it's important to expand your horizons and dive deep into the art of poetry so that you can not be limited to pain or tragedy because life is so much more.
Good shit
wow..
💞
this is it
Nice
Will the shadow of the mic in the poet's mouth ever not bother me? the answer is not.
the poem was amazing tho
Can someone explain this to me?
Rxchel Xoxo Well, in general, she's telling poets not to focus only on their traumas, because it's not good for them, and the good things deserve to be written about too. Was their any specific part you didn't get?
Fucking. Awesome.!!
She says "mine, mine, mine" and moves her hands and slicing the air as if she is moving the hands of a clock on the wall www.sparknotes.com/lit/clockworkorange/summary.html
as i get older her poems begin to hold more weight
Alysia are u a petroleum engineer graduate ? Anyway I am so I got all the oil andgas talk
I can't write about anything other than my trauma
This....