I never wanted to be a poet

Recently, on my Instagram stories, I shared one of my newly discovered confessions: I never set out to be a poet. 

I say “newly discovered” because I believe confessions are not always the rattling, hidden secrets we find the strength to vomit up years later. Sometimes they are simple truths so deep that once we discover them, we can’t help but share them.

The truth is, my love affair with words started long before I knew what a stanza was, how a title could bleed into a poem like a severed limb, or even who the hell Robert Frost was. 

It started with a small MP3 player I got for Christmas. I would slip my earbuds in, sneak downstairs into the living room where the printer was, and Google the lyrics to my favorite songs. I would print pages and pages of lyrics until my heart was fluttering and my fingers buzzing like little beasts.

It was reading and listening at the same time! And I was absolutely obsessed.

I also began yearning. I wanted to try. I needed to feel like this phenomenon was coming from me too. So I started writing little bits of my third-grade life in my fluffy pink diary. My parents bought my sister and me cheap Epiphone guitars for Christmas and we began taking weekly lessons in the town next to ours while my mom did the grocery shopping. 

My sister had the voice and I had the glazed eyes. We even mustered up the courage to perform “Safe and Sound” in my grade 6 talent show. When my parents had dinner guests, we were asked to play a song or two. I memorized the chord progression to every Taylor Swift song. Basically, I was having the time of my life.

One day, my music teacher pulled me aside after class.

She asked if we were planning on doing another show. And of course, I smiled and eagerly confirmed. She lazily returned the smile with her eyebrows raised like two lost seagulls, and asked if I’d like to practice “a few more times” with her just to see if we could get it “sounding at least okay”.

I never sang again.

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Last Friday, I went out on a coffee date with a new friend. She told me how she’d recently started taking vocal lessons. And how her studio believes anyone can sing. Anyone. She said it so matter of fact I almost let myself believe it. Just for a warm, split second I pictured myself in headphones, hands around a mic, breaking out of my own goddamn heart.

I know I’m not alone. Some people hide their singing voices better than their addictions, their cruelty, and their misfortunes. The voice is a deer. Easily scared away, terrified to return once it has fled.

Even though I never sang again, my desire to court language never faded.

I think I became a poet because I could write lyrics without having to sing them.

The rhythm, the beat, the selfish way we can make people feel our hearts without asking, all of that was still there. And I didn’t ruin it by opening my mouth.

Sometimes I still catch myself wanting to rewrite song lyrics. There’s a line in the second verse of Everglow by Coldplay—my favourite song of all time—that goes…. “And now I’m gonna miss ya…I know”. Go have a listen and tell me it shouldn’t have been “and now I’m gonna miss ya…and the world may not know”. The way the guitar riffs, it would have JUST been perfect.

On the flip side, I also notice when there’s a moment of lyric genius in a song. In Zach Bryan’s new song with Kacey Musgraves “I Remember Everything”, in the chorus, the lyrics go: “Pictures and passing time. You only smile like that when you’re drinking” and I just LOVE Zach for not doing the obvious and rhyming “time” with “wine”. The song is so achy and by choosing to skip the expected rhyme, the listener ACHES along with the musician for what could have been. It’s incredibly visceral.

I do this in my poems too. I break a line right before the good stuff, so when the reader can’t help but continue, they are left itching with want.

There are so many similarities between writing poetry and writing lyrics.

When, in a small moment of rebellion, I shared this newly discovered confession on my Instagram story, I ended up chatting with songwriter Anthony Frijia in my DM’s. He says:

“Another element of songwriting you made me think of is the art of creating tension. You do that with line breaks [in poetry]. In songwriting, it’s often done the same way, leaving space after a lyric to give the listener a moment to think about it and wonder what’ll come next.”

We went back and forth like this for awhile, playing tennis with our art, comparing the ways in which they’re definitely not cousins, more like sisters. Maybe even lovers.

It makes “sense” why I became a poet, but I still believe the desires of our hearts are a mystery. I’m not sure one gets to choose what they want. I say this because they can leave for decades at a time, yet they seem to return no matter how long it’s been.

I suppose we must obey these desires. I’m not sure what happens if we don’t, but I’m not willing to find out.

Here’s my second confession: Anthony sent me a sample music track. I’ve been writing some lyrics. I’ve been opening my mouth.

Love,

Maria

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👀New stuff:

How To Read Poetry Workshop w/ Andrew Buckley

Andrew Buckley is the genius behind the well-loved Instagram account @coffee_with_keats and writes all things poetry and literature on his Substack

Coffee With Keats

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A few outside tickets left.

Gather Writing Circle Waitlist

We have ONE more 12-week round of Gather this year from September 1st to November 17th. There are over 100 people on the waitlist and we have room for just 30 poets at the table. To save your spot, join the waitlist so you get an early invite by email and can snag a seat quick when doors open ❤️

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