I have taken a suggestion from my artiste friend Megan, okay, my best friend who happens to be an artist, and am in process of painting a poem.

In my junior year of highschool, I was reluctant to read Huckleberry Finn. I have yet to read it and I do believe it was on my freshman list in college. Needless to say, I came up with a big fat zero on a quiz in Ms. Mosley's advanced, junior, english course. In the household which I was raised and the leader of the household being a straight A doctoral student, zero's were frowned upon. Being selfish in nature though, I was slightly less worried about my Dad's opinion, rather, I was more concerned about exempting the exam because if I could get out of a test, I would get out of a test. Ms. Mosley said that the only way I could make up the zero was to write a two page poem. A TWO PAGE POEM? Like I could write a full one page poem! Inspired by the unsightly zero on my record which I was desperate to replace, I set out to surprise my teacher and earn a 100 to appease the home front AND get out of an exam. So I waited... and then I waited... I waited some more... then the last minute kicked in and the end of the quarter was coming around. Somehow I ended up picking up my cousins from Dynamo and can't remember if I was just happened to be hanging out with my Aunt Sue or what, but somehow I was waiting on my cousins, Kelley & Jenny. I sat waiting and wrote a poem in the same style that I was studying in Ms. Mosley's class. She was having us read William Faulkner's The Sound and The Fury, which she wasn't sure if a junior class could handle or not and I LOVE that novel. To this day, I love that novel. William Faulkner writes in a style called stream of conscienceness (I hate spelling that word), or so Ms. Mosley taught us. Somehow in the moments of waiting in the natatorium I wrote two pages of poem. I turned it in and recieved my 100. I ended up taking the exam anyway to increase my grade to an A instead of a B. I studied at Marnie's house and spent the night with her granddaughter who was my best friend, Emily. Little did I know how much Ms. Mosely thought of my two page poem.

The following year the literary magazine awards were given out. Over the intercom in my AP calculus class in second period, the announcements were made and Mrs. Elrod, the literary magazine advisor announced my name as the senior poetry winner, first place. The way my school went though, Rebekah and I were always confused. I knew that I hadn't entered anything for the magazine and Rebekah knew that she had, so to collect the $25 prize money we both went to clear things up. It was my two page poem. Ms. Mosely entered it for me. I don't know that I even have the original draft. I read it before a group of winners that year at a literary tea. The most interesting thing about the way I won is that no one in the school was a judge. It was an outside english professor from one of the colleges. Who would guess that I could write a poem?

Megan read that poem and told me I needed to paint it. Have I ever mentioned that I paint? Well I do, but only for me not for you. It is a soup nazi style painting philosophy that I have. Anyway, I began to paint this poem. I cried. I cried some more and then I didn't paint. I didn't paint. I cried. Then I did paint. I realized that the poem while being that stream of conscienceness, it was my conscienceness. It was me. Who would know that a poem I wrote when I was 16 would be who I am today at 29? It is insecurities. It is inabilities. It is the essence of who I am and the way I think and feel. Now it is trunkated and painted all over my apartment. Now my apartment is a little more of me. And now, if or when you ever come to my home, know that I am open and vunerable whether you know it or not. I guess when they talk about finding out "who you are," this is what they are talking about.