Ms Rizzo spent a couple of weeks working with our students on how to write good poetry. From the beginning, they were told that their final project would be to write a poem about themselves. One student, however, recently described this assignment as “a bit typical.”

Yet a poet – or a writer, or an artist, student or not – must be able to turn the typical into something incredible. Invariably, teachers will assign you topics throughout your entire scholastic career – some of those will speak to you, some will not. No matter what the topic, however, your writing should be exceptional. You are learning the skills in this class to make it so.

In this particular assignment, the students were told that they needed to write a poem about themselves, but they were also given the following prompts to help them come up with something creative:

• “People think I’m __________ but I’m really _____________.”
• “Before I realized _____________, I used to believe ____________.”
• “I am the one who _____________.”

When I’ve done the assignment, I’ve also included these prompts:

• “In the circus of my family, __________________.”
• Write the most honest observation you can about yourself.
• Write about the exact time and circumstances under which you will come back to haunt the living, OR write about how and by whom you are haunted.

Take a “typical” assignment and make it creative …

Go to Sleep, Child
by Ms Smith

Before I realized
that I cared more about what the world thought of me
than the world actually cared about me,
I used to believe
that my worth
was only found
in what I could do for those around me.

People think I’m a blank piece of paper
they can use
or write on
or fold any way they want,
but I am covered in scarlet words
invisible
to those who do not care to read them.

I am the one
who smiles on the surface
while storms rage inside.
I am the one
who sacrifices my time
in order to provide time for others.
I am the one
who is slowly learning that who I am
is more than what I do
for the people around me.

In the circus of my family,
time has tamed the lion
and the ringmaster has ceded control,
but the trapeze artists must continue their aerial dance
until the end of the show.

I always thought
there would be a point
where I could say, “I am a grown up.”
If there is,
though,
I haven’t found it yet.
I am still learning who I am.

At 3:23 in the morning,
when my eyes are burning
and my mind cannot go quiet
for thinking about the needs ahead and the mistakes behind,
my grandmother’s spirit whispers in my ear.
“You are worthy.
“You are loved.

“You are in desperate need of rest.
“Go to sleep, child.”