Validated

Thursday night, around 2 am, when I was still awake playing solitaire on my iPod, I had this sudden realization. I won, I thought. I won third place in the Rexburg Poetry Slam. Holy crap. HOLY CRAP. THIRD PLACE. And then I stayed awake for another 10 minutes, letting the adrenaline finish coursing. Then I finally fell asleep. It was like my brain had to finish processing the event, and when it had come to that realization, I could sleep. 

Anyway, I know it's the tiny Rexburg Poetry Slam. But I told Jacob last night that if I could sum up the experience in one word, it would be validating. I think I could go through my whole life being fairly confident in my abilities as a poet. I am not Anne Sexton or Robert Frost or Sylvia Plath. But I am Liz Chapman, and I'm a pretty decent poet. But it was a pretty awesome experience to have a whole room full of people think so too. I'm really really grateful. And I was also very impressed with the other poets there, and honored to be there with them.

Especially since standing in front of people and performing your poetry is just about the scariest thing ever. I was chatting with some of the other poets (who were all incredibly talented) and we had this conversation: 

Me - Someone once said that acting is standing in front of an audience, completely naked, and rotating slowly. I've always agreed, but after doing this, I don't think acting is that. Because you have a costume. POETRY is standing naked and rotating slowly. 

Other Poet - Yeah. It's like you're naked AND on fire. 

True story. 

Anyway, here's the poem I performed. I also did one about a pig for the finalist round, but posting two poems feels like tooting my own horn way more than I already am, so I'll just post this one. This poem was the first one I ever wrote with the idea of performing it in mind. It was actually totally different, and then I did it for my sister Beckah and she gave me a brilliant critique and I changed a ton. So I guess half of that free pie-shake I won Thursday night goes to Beckah. 

Marginalia, or “You Dear Sweet Fragile Little Thing”

I mean,

Billy Collins said it was one thing,

but here

is what it means.

Margin.

Marginalized.

It means margarine instead of butter in all the bread

she baked for 20 years

in the oven that could have ended everything

at any moment

had she stayed leaning down

for long enough

just long enough.

Just by a slim margin

long enough.

Another girl,

she was only 14 but

they put her in the margins

when they said

you are responsible for that man’s thoughts

don’t bare your ankles

and don’t lean over your books

that way

you’ll get top-heavy, girl.

When my sister was born

people put her in the margins.

They told her

what color was her color

without looking into her eyes

to see every light-spectrum color there

in a pattern that was all her own,

coloring outside all the lines

that they tried to give her

when they said

“This is a man’s world.”

And me.

Me, I have walked through

my own garage under

the heavy stare of a man

who was there to fix the air

conditioning

when I was 16 years old

and didn’t know what it was

he was thinking about my teenage legs.

And if I could

walk past him again,

I would start reciting

Shakespeare at the top of my lungs

just to show him

how much godhood these two legs

are actually holding up.

My friends,

there are women who

are wearing makeup and

Beatles t-shirts beneath their

burqas,

despite the fact that no one will see them,

despite the fact that they cannot drive a car,

despite the fact that they cannot appear in public alone

they wear what they want just to scream to themselves

that they still have a choice.

My friends,

when the magazines

tell you what position

will give you power

they are telling you

to try to change the world

from the margins.

But you

you are

words that belong

not between the lines

but all over that page.

And when they say

don’t bare your ankles

and when they say

try this position

and when they say

this is your color

you tell them

it is your book

you tell them

it is your page

and you tell them

that your words

were meant to be read. 

Also, last night was the final push of validation I needed to make this announcement: 

 

This is a mock-up cover design for the book of poetry I've decided to self-publish. Like, available on amazon.com and maybe even at the Idaho Falls Barnes and Noble self-publish (but I'll get a higher royalty if you buy it from createspace...I'll tell you more about that later). I've spent a lot of time researching and thinking about this, and I've decided to go for it. It'll probably be available sometime in the Fall. (I've actually been working on it for a while...) Just in time for Christmas.

So blog-readers, start saving money now! I promise I'll make this as affordable as possible, though, so you probably don't actually need to start saving money now. This book will have some new stuff and some old stuff and maybe some art stuff. I'll keep ya posted!