A Poem From A Girl Who Was Not A Poet

So, I have elected to share with you a poem that I wrote before I knew how to write poetry. Yikes! The thing is, I had a lot of fun reading it, and even though the endless gerunds at the end make it unbearably passive, they also make it sort of fun to read aloud. (Are gerunds more common in spoken-word poetry? It would make sense, because they rhyme more easily…) I even left the terrible line breaks and the lines beginning in capital letters. And the best part: it’s written in third person. What was I thinking? Anyway, I hope you can ignore it’s faults and enjoy my progression into faith, in all it’s lovely abstract language (gag!).


Song of Myself (Yep, I did title it this way. Our school assignment may have been called that or something. I am not sure I was well-versed enough in Whitman to know the pretentious origin of such a title or how misplaced it truly was.)

Recess became a part of this child

Simplicity and wonder filled her up

Daisy chains, and sister’s T-ball games

Playing house in the backyard and the spider that infested the play house

The wood chips on the track at her first real school, and racing on it every day

Always beating the boys became a part of her too.

Soon they chased her for different reasons.

She was cheesy and immature

Being mean and later hating it

These too shaped who she was.

Stealing from her grandparents, then returning it

Crying herself to sleep for years thinking she would go to hell.

Not understanding then, formed the part of her that can appreciate grace.

Middle school came and drama conquered.

He likes me! I hate her. Rotten feelings shaped this girl.

Losing a friend I once thought close and hating the ones that loved me.

Moving out of her s-cube and never going back.


Tears. (For shame! I cannot believe I did these pathetic one-liners! Please laugh with me.)

They all showed this girl a need for change. Something was missing.

Joining hands searching for truth,

Seeing the light, and never again blinking.

Growing, going deeper.

Talking, sharing, loving, supporting.

They all taught this girl to have faith.

Faith, perhaps, became the biggest part of her.

She knew God was near and learned how to trust.

She grew and she knew.

Now, that all of it pointed her to where she was.

They all became part of her in one way or another.

She knows who she is and will not forget the past.

The past, points her forward.

And she goes,

She has gone,

And she will go.

Forth every day,

To be a light,

To show them the way.


So now we get to celebrate both the redemption of “this girl” and her poetry.


About Jacquelyn Barnes

Former English Literature and Writing major at Whitworth University. Spanish Language minor. Browne's Addition Resident. Editorial Assistant at Gray Dog Press. Interested in postcolonial, multicultural, and feminist theories. Former ski racer. Longboarder. Runner. Member of Vintage Faith Community Church (we have no building). Painter. Morning person. View all posts by Jacquelyn Barnes

3 responses to “A Poem From A Girl Who Was Not A Poet

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