I hope I’m always the type of person who turns off the Hollywood drama ‘based on true events’ to pick up the imasciated chapbook of poetry and prose written by a self-published high school student.
One is a bacon-wrapped hot-dog of drama and conflict; the other is the plea of a person who has barely lived, feeling as though they’ve already lived too much, and trying desperately, yes, courageously, to not to look away from themselves.
I am moved by authenticity — lines out of a journal, secrets revealed, self-talk brought into the light, arguments that can’t be won.
Who says a teenager can’t teach us something new?
If nothing else, what struggle looks like up close, and the rawness of wonder.
A gift from youth, handed over with shaking hands and bloodied nails.
So generous.
Nascent wisdom in unwatered seeds.