I’m sorry. That was aggressive. But really, I’m in a follower-battle with a friend who writes for THE ROLLING STONE. Ok, so he is only an intern and only write online blogs but still! How can I compete with that?? username: sierrademulder
Thank you for your kind words! My second book comes out in January and I am definitely headed to Massachusetts in February. I’ll be posting performance dates soon…Thanks again!
Thank you! I love your user name. Is that awkward?
Hello Autumn! First off, I’m going to say the advice I give to everyone, regardless of where they are in their “creative journey” bla bla bla. Absorb as much poetry as possible! Read books, go to the library, check out poetry blogs, watch YouTube, and go to open mics, poetry slams, and readings. This exposure will develop your pallet. Knowing what you love and don’t love about other people’s poems will help you define your voice.
Next, get on those stages! Send your poems to journals. Ask other poets to workshop with you, so you can learn from them. Your poetic voice should always be changing, challenging yourself. I would be lying if I didn’t say I was wildly embarrassed of 99% of all the poems I wrote 5 years ago when I started, but alas, it’s the life of an artist. We should evolve.
Finally, I cannot stress how important editing is. When you edit your poems, you aren’t stifling your creative voice. You are sharpening your tool. You are making your poem the best it can be.
The last thing I want to mention is about The Poetry World. It is a bizarre, intimidating, non-existent reality full of possible rejection, self-inflicted perfectionism, and audiences full of people who are just waiting for their turn to read. I am so thankful to be able to share my work on a national level, but sometimes, this shit is scary! My friend read some study somewhere that said people are more afraid of public speaking than they are of death! So, I guess what I’m saying is be proud of yourself for being an artist of any kind. That shit takes courage.
Hope this pushing you in one direction or another. Sorry if it seems rambling, because it is…good luck!
Thank you! What a compliment! Some of my biggest poetic influences are Sharon Olds, Jason Shinder, Kim Addonizio, to name a few favorites. Also, I am very inspired by many fiction writers like John Jodzio, and Louise Erdrich. And, of course, I love me some Plath… ;)
I don’t believe it is actually published anywhere. Sorry to disappoint you! If you email me at email@example.com, I will send you the text. <3
(AUTHOR’S NOTE: This spoken word piece is published in the online literary magazine The Legendary. I am posting it on my tumblr because this is where I first found Pro-Ana blogs. Suffering is an addiction. I was addicted to self-abuse for years. We need to learn that there is NOTHING empowering about lessening ourselves. We are all worthy of love.)
Pro-anorexia is the support and promotion of an eating disorder as a lifestyle choice. Often, online communities provide tips and encouragement, and affectionately refer to themselves as Ana.
I would never speak to a child
the way I speak to myself.
There is nothing empowering about lessening yourself.
You are a vanishing act. Your body, the magic hat,
pulling out nothing. Your body is a clothing wrack,
your body is my favorite sweater shrunk in the drying.
Less is more less is more less I know
more less I know more or less how to love myself.
Hair loss is a side effect of bulimia.
If you are so hell-bent on losing your hair,
here are the scissors. Here is the razor.
Why don’t you shave it? Why don’t you
donate it? Why don’t you braid me a fucking scarf?
You beautiful martyr. You knuckle-kissing saint.
You are a mother bird and we are all your children
and we are all so hungry. We want to see a staircase
around your lungs. We want to hang ornaments
from your collarbone. We want nothing
to do with your softness.
They don’t show big girls in the magazines
like they are afraid to show men what childbirth looks like.
It is too real, it is too bloody.
Dear First World,
what a privilege it is to hate our bodies.
Ana, when your loved ones
carry your coffin, will they doubt
there is a body in there?
Like an empty suitcase.
A silent instrument.
I too have pulled at my torso.
I too have imagined hemming my body.
I suck it in. I suck it in. I turn off the light
before I let him love me.
Ana, imagine yourself as a little girl.
Tell her she is not good enough. Tell her
she is ugly. When she comes to you hungry,
do not feed her.
Your body is not a temple.
Your body is the house you grew up in.
How dare you try to burn it to the ground.
You are bigger than this.
You are bigger
you are swallowing yourself.
Your voice is so small.