Successful people can't write poems.

The title is a quote by the Oregon poet William Stafford. I was drawn to its honesty, its truth, and my own need to fight against it. When I was younger, poetry and writing were never something I strived for. I didn't have a journal like other budding authors. Once in awhile I'd get a diary and sporadically write in it, but only a few pages would be filled. And I've never been a good speller and would choose to write words I knew how to spell, instead of what I really wanted to write.

All this leads me to wondering when it all changed. When did the struggle turn into something exciting, a challenge. Maybe William Stafford is right. Maybe it changed when my life after college didn't measure up to the standards I expected. When the world only valued me at eight dollars an hour and I began to believe them. But now what. Now that I've accepted myself as a success, no matter what I do, is poetry the bird that flew out the window? As I read that previous analogy, I think it might be. Is poetry lost to me forever?

All I can say is "I hope not."

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