Logically Illogical: The Right of Write

Tomorrow will be the one-week anniversary of my first SAT test, the first section of which is an essay section.

Over the weeks and months preceding the SAT test, I had been, every week, writing essays for the simple purpose of practicing for that godforsaken test whose name once stood for something but now has no reference.

The SAT is an acronym without anything to replace.

Ironically, though I loathe the tedium of writing SAT essays, I have found that they have helped me grow as a writer. How fitting that a test designed to test intelligence is helping me grow smarter.

So, almost every day now, I write. I write about what I think about, what I like; my emotions, and my struggles.

I write about what I read very often. It is pathetic, sometimes, that I write about the things I read in APEL without being forced to.

After reading a bout of Thoreau and contemplating existence, I wrote a thorough and lengthy essay on the topic. This is not a problem, though. It helps me with my analytical thinking abilities and gives me practice for future on-demand essays I will have to write.

But this is not my goal; I don’t find much pleasure in writing analyses of things. No, I am trying very hard to develop my descriptive faculties.

The SAT test was a great builder for my analytical skill, but my current project is a great builder of my imagery.

My goal: to write a poem every single day. I hope that this will help me describe my feelings better. I am using my writing to vent, to express, and to develop myself as an individual. I am writing to find myself, and, in the process, to try to touch the world with my mind.

I close with a poem I have written, titled “Here you are inside yourself.”

Here you are, inside yourself,

Pick the things you find.

Sow the purchase of the land

Into your barren mind.

Till the soil of your spirit

‘Til you’re broke and slow.

Watch the tiny seeds surface;

See the things you’ve planted grow.

Tender fingers tend the plants,

Water them with care.

Red and ripe the earth shall give

From land was once so bare.

Take the things you’ve grown so long

And put them up to buy,

Watch the patrons come and go

Beneath the broken sky.

Sell the things you’ve wrought from time

To purchase tools to tool,

To make the things of life and love

With your blade and rule.

Take the things you’ve made

From your soul and art,

Take those things and stick them in

To someone else’s heart.

Place your love into the person

Who your mind has doted on.

Walk yours, hand-in-hand, together,

Through the daylight and the dawn.

At the end of the dreary road,

At the gate into forever,

Holding them into yourself,

Letting death your love not sever.

Popularity: 1% [?]