Bzar’s Bounded Book
Every blue moon, I’m reminded that I wrote a book of poetry…many, many moons ago. The other day, however, I was reminded that there are people other than myself that have copies of said book. People that actually paid money for the aforementioned book. Not only do these people own a copy, they actually like it and, for some reason, return to it from time to time!!
As an artist, I’m my own worst critic. Often, we look at our work and see all the things that are wrong with it: The regrets, the mistakes (like titling your book Bounded when you meant “bound…” I roll my eyes every time I think about it.) When I first published Bounded, I was ecstatic and proud! Here I was, a fresh 22-year old (with locs — I know, it’s hard to imagine) who had been introduced to and subsequently fell in love with the open mic scene some years prior. I’d been writing since middle school but, thanks to my friend Jackson, I now had places to go to not only listen to other poets perform but to share my pieces as well. (Fun fact: The very first poem I ever read at an open mic night was called: “DemDamnStr8Ppl.” I fully expected to be chased out by patrons wielding pitchforks and torches. Surprisingly however, that damn poem became the most requested piece I ever wrote or performed.) Anyway, I’d spent years religiously attending — literally, I was at an open mic every Sunday night. I’d even tailor my work schedule to ensure I was off on Sundays — and listening and becoming enraptured and “spitting” and being inspired; meeting new people, new poets, new friends. These were people who were as passionate about poetry as I was, if not more; people who were already published or in the process. So, I decided that I’d throw my hat in the ring and submit to the world my unique point of view…at 22.
The reason I cringe when those same people so lovingly remind me of Bounded is that I’m not that person anymore. It was so long ago and I’ve grown and matured so much since then that the poems therein no longer represent who I am…for the most part, I mean, the str8s do still work my nerves. But you understand: The feelings I had then aren’t necessarily the same ones I have now; the mentality of a teen and twenty-something are vastly different from that of an adult. I suppose that’s the thing about creating a concrete work of art: It’s there forever whether you like it or not. And I, by no means, am ashamed of Bounded; but as the great Edna Mode once said, “I never look back, darling. It distracts from the now.”
Another fun fact: As a college senior, I was required to write a senior thesis which I was dreading. I despise writing long papers! However, since my major was in the humanities, I found out that I could, instead, submit a collection of poems. I pulled several pieces from Bounded and some others and BAM! I was done!
