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Manifested in Verse.

Sófia Servando Baig



Last Updated: 11/26/2009

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Status: Single
City: Montréal
Country: CA
Signup Date: 3/26/2006
Sunday, May 10, 2009 

Current mood:  contemplative

I wrote this a few weeks back on April 16, 2009 & posted it up on my Facebook page. I thought I should share this with you all on here! Enjoy :D
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can i say i'm having trouble being a Poet?


This is a first for me.
Being vulnerable? no. Putting yourself out there & using Facebook as a means to confess? yes.

This may seem erratic & may be even foolish on my part, HECK! I may even end up deleting this! But regardless, I've always felt that facebook should never be a dumping ground for your feelings, issues, rants, or bursts of enlightenment, since it may seem...pretentious & completely self-indulgent. But since I have around 900 "facebook friends" who may or may not be friends, acquaintances, enemies, haters, lovers, stalkers, I guess what I say here, right now, may affect or at least inform some, few, or none.

So what's the point of all this? The point is, I'm having trouble being a poet. I'm having trouble with identifying myself with a role or image that may or may not have been placed on me, which I may or may not be worthy of. Why? Well here goes...(for those who care)

In short, I have always had the extreme need & desire to express myself, not because I wanted people to listen or needed an audience, but because I was trying to figure out life...that maybe if I just wrote everything down & said it out loud to myself, that it would somehow make sense, that all of this would make sense and that it would sound a little less crazy when vocalized. I can go through old notebooks & journals and find a 5yr old "Sofia Baig" in those pages, writing about life, asking myself questions, that now as a 21 year old woman, I am still unable to answer. I was 17 when I started reciting my words, when I found this voice. I was a 17 year old girl, who out of hardship found a way to deal with who I was. My only intention while standing in front of a crowd of no more than 40 people, 3 & a half years ago, was to give life to the girl inside of me who was fed up of holding herself together, while she was tearing at the seams. Some people may read this and not understand, I don't expect you to. Some people may read this and know exactly what I'm talking about, good.

Does all of this make me a poet? It makes me a human. Regardless of what you've been through in life, we all try to deal with our problems in one way or another. Some go down the self-destructive path; promiscuity, drugs, a constant need for validation, etc. and some find other ways, mine was to write. I thought it was to sing. but it was to write.

For those who know me, really know me, I do not fit into this cookie cutter, stereotypical, idea & image of a poet, if anything those stereotypes are LAME, just like any other idiotic misconception (redundant?). In regular conversation, I express myself in run-on sentences, littered with grammatical errors. I waste words. laced with vulgarities, I'd never dare write. At times, I am as deep as a puddle EVAPORATING on a summer's day (ha ha). I am ME. and what I am, rather who I am, cannot be placed in a box, cannot be put into a category, cannot be given a title and can NEVER be packaged.

Poet. Artist. Poet. Spoken Word. Poet. I rarely state that I am any of those. Why? Because who am I to claim a title like that? I have always felt that being a Poet is not something you claim for yourself, but rather something you work & strive to become. Am I saying I'm not a poet? I'm saying I write & express my thoughts in my own way, with the intention of not only helping myself, but others. It's not about the title or what goes with it, rather it's about what you have to say as a human being, what kind of contribution you're making to society, to the times, to our world. It's not about busying yourself with the title, "Poet" or with everything that goes with it...it's about being who you are, stripping down to your soul, knowing that regardless of shame, pride or fear, that someone will find all of this beautiful. That even passed the words veiled with anger, hurt, resentment and loss, someone...anyone, is able to see that it all stems from love. That in a matter of a few words, your heart is able to connect with complete strangers; Linking our lives together & learning from one another. What makes a poet? I am not one for "schooling" others in the ways of poetry and I never will be, insh'Allah. I am not one for being someone I am not and I never will be, insh'Allah.

With all of these incoherent thoughts tied together in disarray, I'd like to end off with this...I am you & you are me. We may not look like one another, we may not sound or think or speak like one another, but if you look closely, you will find that you are apart of me. When you think no one is looking, I take you in my pen and write you out, stand in front of you, with your stories on my tongue & your hand on my heart, ready for you to listen, ready to show you how beautiful you really are. And if you leave praising me, ask yourself...who is the poet?

sofia.
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Justice Born

 
I feel this because I can relate. People consider me a poet yet I continue to tell them that I just speak words. It happens to come across as poetic.

I dig this...

"In short, I have always had the extreme need & desire to express myself, not because I wanted people to listen or needed an audience, but because I was trying to figure out life"

God Bless you and keep doing what you do.

-Justice

 
Posted by Justice Born on Sunday, August 23, 2009 - 11:27 PM
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DELETED

 
Asalaamo alaikom. I love this blog. I'm happy that you found "a voice" alhamdolillah. You state many important things through your poems, words, stanzas, whatever you want to call them. Continue to write and recite but wallahi you do help me find a tiny voice inside me that I never knew of. Thank you.

 
Posted by DELETED on Saturday, September 12, 2009 - 7:56 AM
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