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Poetry sucks.

This whole poetry thing started over Easter break. Like the first Tuesday or Wednesday of break, the phone rang, and it rang, and then it rang some more.... Neither my father or I (my mother and sister were in New York City) picked up the phone. On the called ID, it said the name of my eighth grade English teacher. It was freaky.

Why would my English teacher from eighth grade be calling me? I found out later that day, or the next day. Either I called my father about something, or my father called me, but during out conversation, my father told me that [some sort of book organization] had chosen one of my poems to be read -by me- in front of a live audience. The details were pretty sketchy, but I straight out refused. That's right, I REFUSED.

As soon as my father told me this information, I broke into a sweat, my heart started pounding, and I had a huge adrenaline rush. I hate, that's HATE, public speaking. On my list of worst fears, it's probably third. That's two down from death.

My father certainly seemed to have gotten the wrong information about the event, or just wanted to glorify me being chosen, because he not only got the event's date wrong, he also told me that I was the only one doing it. I repeatedly told my father that I would not do it, and he said that he'd meet with the members of [some sort of book organization] and tell them that I didn't want to attend. Well, he did so, and just to make sure it didn't seem like I was being completely rude (which, by the way, I really could care less about), he told them that I would meet with them on the day of the dress rehearsal just to thank them for choosing me.

The first day back from Easter break, my literature teacher came up to me and congratulated me about winning some sort of poetry contest. Contest? I thought I was just selected! I would never apply to a poetry contest, unless, of course, my life, or somebody else's life depended on it. You couldn't pay me $1,000 to get on stage in front of tons of people to recite a poem. No less than a million, and even then I would have to think about it.

My literature teacher, upon seeing my confusion, told me that the even was on Thursday. Thursday? I had been told it was on a Saturday! Then, he also said that he wanted to go! GO?! I was planning on not going! He also told me that another girl from my grade had been selected, too. So it wasn't just me!

So, of course, I was extremely upset by this news. I went home and called my father about it. He assured me it was on a Saturday.

I went online to research this whole event, that I was invited to speak at, but had hardly any idea about. It turns out that it was a poetry CONTEST. I didn't apply to any contest! It was starting to really freak me out.

I sort of forgot about the whole thing until today, when my literature teacher came up to me again to remind me of the horrible event. The rest of the day, I was having a mini anxiety attack. I needed to get home.

Even worse, today was the dress rehearsal. About half an hour after I got home, my father and I left for the [place where the event will be held] by [some sort of book organization]. When we got there, there were at least fifty kids waiting outside. My father and I went inside and sat down. At first we sat in the front row, but I convinced that we should sit in the back row.

About fifteen minutes passed, and all the kids from outside of the building began filing in. It's really funny to me seeing people from other schools. It's strange to see the teachers calling out to the students by name and all the unfamiliar faces. They seem sort of like aliens who come from a far away place where different rules apply.... anyway.... My father and I waited there for like five more minutes as people began to sing on the stage.

I was on the verge of a panic attack. I was biting my sweatshirt and asking my father if we could leave. Eventually, he decided that we should just walk around the building to see if there was anybody he recognized from [some sort of book organization].

After looking around both sides of the building, we went back and sat on the steps. That's when one of the women from [some sort of book organization] came up to us. She introduced herself and said hello to me, but I was not really in a talkative mood, I just made a painful smile and darted my eyes around nervously.

The woman asked me if I was nervous. Nervous? Why would I be nervous? I thought my father clarified with them that I wasn't GOING TO DO THIS! I just smiled very nervously and shrugged. She went on to saying that if I was too nervous, that my English teacher from eighth grade (who incidently is a member of [some sort of book organization]) would read it for me. However, they expected me to at least go to the event and then once it was my turn to go up, make a decision on who was to read the poem. I didn't say anything about this. I just stared at my shoes.

The woman then started talking about the dress rehearsal and whether or not I should do that. Luckily, my father noticed me violently shaking my head back and forth and made up some excuse for the both of us to leave.

On the way back to the car, my English teacher from the eighth grade spotted us walking from her car and got our attention. My father told her that she would have to do the poem for me.

Okay, so that doesn't sound too bad, does it? There is a huge problem. My father told the person from [some sort of book organization] that we would be attending. That means that I have to go. That means that I have to sit there and not go up to recite my poem. That means that my English teacher from the eighth grade is going to go up there and recite the poem. Yet, people will know that I'm there and be wondering why I didn't go up there. This is TOO MUCH PRESSURE!

April 20, 2004 at 05:04 PM

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