The Power of Poetry for Teenage Girls

When I tell people that I write poetry, I know what most are thinking. They’re thinking about sonnets spewed by Shakespeare and English class, especially the dreadful groans in response to the teacher pulling out the poetry books. But poetry isn’t boring to me. It saved me; I wouldn’t be standing here without it.

I wrote my first poem when I was 5. It was about my grandpa. “I love you like the sunrise / I hope you never die.” Clever, right? (Also, fast forward; he did, in fact, die.) I wrote it into a little purple book my mom gave me. After that, I would write down every word that rhymes. It was a fun, insignificant hobby.

Until it wasn’t. One minute, I was writing about the fairies in the trees. Next, I was rhyming my way to Neverland to escape my father’s addiction. I skipped meals in middle school, and the only person who knew was my poetry journal. I wrote about God, and then I wrote about questioning God. I wrote about my depression before I even knew what it was. I have always said that I feel every emotion a million times stronger than the average person. The only way that I could release them was by writing. So, that’s what I did.

When I was 15, I discovered spoken word poetry. I did a deep dive into Button Poetry videos and became instantly intrigued. Olivia Gatwood. Rudy Francisco. Blythe Baird. They all wrote and spoke about things that I thought I alone felt. They made me feel less alone. They made me feel.

Theirs wasn’t just poetry scratched onto a page; it was a performance. I wanted to do that. I wanted to make people understand me. So, as most teenagers do, I looked online for events like this. I found Red Dirt Poetry in OKC. They were having a slam poetry night (which is spoken word, but as a competition). I begged my mom to take me. To my surprise, she did.

I picked poems that I was yearning for the world to hear (topics included gun control and the patriarchy, of course). Despite having an abundance of anxiety, I walked on stage and poured my soul out in front of a bunch of strangers. I won three competitions, landed a spot on the slam team, and competed with them in Albuquerque. Before this, I felt so small and insignificant. I had no idea who I was or what my purpose was, but something about speaking into that mic felt right. It’s such a vulnerable thing, hearing how people feel about the world. Though, there is something perhaps more vulnerable: telling the world how you feel.

This is my last year (well, technically, last month) of being a teenager. I have spent a lot of time reflecting on the complicated expedition of being a teenage girl. It’s something so special. You have to navigate adolescence while the entire world looks down on you. I have been sexualized since I was 12. I have worried about the shape and size of my body, dealt with the effects of addiction, and found out that I was adopted (surprise!). To this day, I still struggle with depression and anxiety.

I went to therapy once. The therapist asked me how I was feeling, so I handed her my poems. I said, “My entire mind is the ink resting between these sheets of paper. Be gentle.” I have written about the first lover who broke my heart and the one who stitched it back together. I have written about how I am always sad and how my depression likes to dance around my room.

As the years have passed, I have learned so much more about myself, and as my teenage years are coming to a close, I will share one thing I’ve learned: Poetry isn’t just about darkness. You can write about how you haven’t gotten out of bed for a week, but you can also write about the one day that you did. Poetry is art. It’s hope. It’s heaven, it’s hell, and it’s everything in between.

To the teenage girl reading this: You will learn so much more about yourself. The odds will always feel against you because they are. But you will make it. I promise. And, if you find yourself feeling a million emotions at once, try writing it down. You never know what could happen.