Slam poets and spoken words artists have always inspired me to not only become a better writer, but also a performer. I desired to bring my words alive and truly make it an art form that I can share with others. A few months ago a man from Southern Word, a Nashville based literary and performance arts organization, introduced me to a world that I had been so intrigued with for years. A world that my laptop screen separated me from as I watched Brave New Voices on YouTube all hours of the night. A world that I admired, but dared not step into.
Every month Ben, the Southern Word guy, meets with me and a group of students on my campus and every month he encourages us to preform and share our poetry. I, dripping with uncertainty, deny sharing any part of me each time.
On April 4th, almost all of the colleges in the middle Tennessee area got together for a spoken word competition at BB Kings, a popular blues night club in downtown Nashville. I reluctantly signed up which automatically granted my stomach the right to make me physically sick. For the first few hours I was nauseous and short of breath. As soon as I found out they were scoring our pieces...aloud(!) I regretted even attending.
Amazing poet after amazing poet slayed the stage and I just knew I couldn't compare. I finally performed. I spoke. I walked off stage. That was it. I immediately felt defeated and wanted to curl into a ball and disappear. Then they read my score. I'm pretty sure I got the lowest score there. I'm pretty sure I was last. Even if I wasn't, it won't change how I felt at that moment; embarrassed.
As the competition went on two men told me my poem was "lovely" and "dope...coming from a mans perspective." I began to feel a bit better, but personal shame could not be shaken off of me. I guess more than anything I felt like I failed myself. I feel as though I could have done a lot better. I was angry that I chose to perform for the first time ever in a competition, in a popular blues club, and in the presence of experienced and brilliant poets.
Then it hit me.
Well less like "it" and more like "they." "They" being the several thoughts that sobered me.
- "This is you very first time performing...ever! And in a popular competition and blues club! You should be so proud of yourself. Wow. You really did it."
- "Girl...what did you think you were going to do?? Get a perfect score, surpassing these 'experts' and bring the house down?! Please..."
- "Well this is a competition...and you're clearly a newbie. Someone, anyone, had to be last."
Someone had to be last.
Stephen King's first novel was rejected 30 times. Steven Spielberg got rejected from film school ... three times. The Beatles were dropped by their record label. Michael Jordan was cut from his high school basketball team. [1] Thomas Edison failed 1,000 times before creating the light bulb, and later he said, "I have not failed. I've just found 10,000 ways that won't work."
I learned how to be better in the future. I now know what to work on, how to improve. I have first learned how to be last to humble me and push me to far greater things. Last place just means I have more examples set before me. I'm grateful.
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