Trying again with my pen

After I was assigned to the Writing Poetry module for the spring semester, I was excited, but also more than a little anxious… more than a little terrified to be honest.

I started writing poetry when I was ten years old – it started as a class assignment and snowballed from there when I realized that writing my first poem was a lot of fun. From then on, it became a hobby and a habit for me to scribble down ideas for new poems whenever they came to me, and write new poems whenever I felt like it.

The stress of the last two years high school put this stream of creativity to a quick halt. I was consumed by textbooks and past papers, all while struggling with a painful personal loss, and so, poetry fell neglected by the wayside. I revisited my poems occasionally with a fond look and a nostalgic read, but the drive inside me to write, write, write seemed to have disappeared. That didn’t mean I didn’t miss it.

When I arrived in St. Andrews, I had a lot more free time on my hands during my first year – finally, here was my chance to go back to poetry, back to the writing pad and find my voice again. Only, that didn’t happen, and I’m still not sure why. Maybe it was fear over not being good enough, of putting my pen to paper and always feeling that swell of frustration from not having the right words, or having the image I want to capture being erased from the page. Maybe I was too busy learning my way around this place that was to become my new home while trying to pretend like I didn’t spend nights awake, homesick.

I didn’t end up reclaiming my pen during like I wanted to, though there were a few new poems here and there.

Drifting away from poetry has always been one of my greatest regrets. When I found out I would be taking Writing Poetry this semester, I was unbelievably excited; here was my second (third) chance to come back to it now. But I won’t pretend my old demons aren’t still lingering on the page. That little voice in my head that says nothing I write will be good enough seems to get louder every day.


But I want to give this one more shot. Once, poetry was a very important source of joy and creativity in my life. I’d like to find that again, so here’s hoping I will when I try again with my pen.