College EssayLiving a life with a stutter is like a record that just keeps skipping over and over again. You have the words trapped on the tip of your tongue, a tick that you can’t push through until the meaning behind your words is lost. I developed a stutter when I was a sophomore. It first appeared when I was under pressure, and could be avoided as long as I remained calm and collected, but it soon began to spread to my every day conversations, leaving me without a voice, wordless, silenced.
The stutter became most of who I was, and even with well-rehearsed conversations I found myself tripping over my tongue. Along with the development of my stutter, I found myself writing poetry to express the words that I could no longer speak. The words became a refuge, a place with a language of it’s own. It was a safe place for me to hide away in until a school project asked me to write and share my original poetry. At first, I was ecstatic. A school project finally came around when I could learn about and explore something I loved. School projects typically allowed me to explore my interests, but this one was the holy grail of projects. As excited as I was, with the deadline approaching, I quickly realized that this project was more than I bargained for. In order to critique and rehearse the poems we were supposed to have memorized, we got up on stage in front of the class to recite our poetry and receive feedback. It didn’t seem like that much of a daunting task, but my stutter took over and turned my poem into another mess. My language had failed me, and in turn, I felt as if I had failed myself. One disastrous rehearsal after another, and it was finally time to present the poetry at exhibition, with community members as well as peers in attendance. That night, on a makeshift stage, I read my poem, spilling out all the emotional strife I had internally locked away. To my surprise, I didn’t stutter once during the presentation. My chest still bursting with excitement, better news was still to come. A small group of people approached me, wanting to thank me for writing a poem that they could relate to. Three girls felt as though my words helped put meaning behind their own sorrows. I wrote my poem with only my emotions in mind, but after these girls thanked me, I realized poetry became less of a translator and more of a microphone. Those three girls unknowingly helped me stand in front of another crowd, a spoken word poem clasped between my sweaty palms. This time, I spoke about female empowerment and removing the stigma about girls. Another occasion presented itself where I spoke out against rape on a college campus, and another where I took to the stage and won the crown of champion of the Durango poetry slam. What first started as a means of working through my stutter became a tool I use to frame my social activism. It’s become a lens in which I see the world. The world in which we live in provides for us filters to help view the world the way we want it to be. Some people wish to live in the bubble gum pink of ignorance. Some are busy occupying sepia tone and others Wall Street. I take to the streets and I spit my poetry to anyone listening, wild attempts in desperation to have someone listen to the cries of the 99%, the victims of sexual assault, the ones prompting the hashtag Black Lives Matter. My poems have become a microphone and I am not afraid to use it to inspire the change I want to see in the world. |
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Some students have a background, identity, interest, or talent that is so meaningful they believe their application would be incomplete without it. If this sounds like you, then please share your story. Colleges I'm Considering
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