Poetry of the Oppressed

Lately, I seem to fall in love with Button Poetry. It’s a group of poets who do performance poetry or I’d like to call it, the artistic performance of the oppressed. The later part is maybe because I think watching the performance poetry regarding oppression are the most stunning performances I’ve seen so far.

The thing that draws me to button poetry is because I love almost all forms of art, from performance arts to literary, to design to prints, photography and so on. I used to participate in creative writing, but kinda lost the passion along the way. I used to think that art is my only way to survive since I grew up troubled. Now I’m 26 and I’m still in trouble in so many ways, I think.

Now I know why I love performance poetry about oppression or why I lost my artistic side. That’s because I, too grow up oppressed. I learned the word silence before I even learned to hear my own voice. I learned that shooting stars are just dead sporadic meteors before I learned how to make sincere wishes. I was pushed to learn the science of everything before I fully enjoyed the wonders of the world. Everything should be properly explained and all actions should always fall into the norm. So I grew up a skeptic which eventually, I didn’t really like. I lost too many people and too many opportunities because I was a skeptic and cynical about almost everything, but mostly, because I grew up afraid that I might do something wrong or that I may not be able to defend or explain why I did what I did. So yeah, I’m still a little bit in trouble.

Despite everything, I learned not to hate the adults that surrounded me when I was little for making me who I am right now. I understand that they also have no idea how to raise a child, especially when that child starts to learn how to think for herself and question the things that surrounds her. But this I promise, if ever I’d be lucky to bring another human form into this world, I would let her/him be whoever she/he wants to be and promise to support her/him whatever the cost. That she/he will be able to choose her/his own identity, whoever she/he wants to love, that she/he can make her/his own mistakes whether she/he can explain it to me or not.

blog pic

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s