Super Poet

This was a relatively easy piece, but it was fun to make. 

By Eva Piper

Nobody believes me when I say I have a superpower. They look at me and laugh. And laugh. And laugh. But maybe they wouldn’t laugh if they knew what I meant.

My power does not shoot through my eyes, burning whatever I look down upon. I do not fly through the sky, floating between clouds and planes. Instead, I float between ideas and sparks. I look upon a painted canvas of words; some big, some small, all playing their part. My power shoots from my head, through my veins, and into my fingers. My fingers start to click and clack, word after word after word being typed into a masterpiece.

The lyrical and mellifluous letters flow together to create a word, then a sentence, then a paragraph. Eventually, I have the idyllic essay.

When I rest my hands on that keyboard, the rest of the words vanish into oblivion. My eyes stare straight ahead while my thoughts run around, whispering nonsense about keeping my voice at an even keel or emphasizing a word. 

I don’t think about what I type while I type it.

I get it onto paper and work from there. I allow my ideas to spill out like water onto my draft. Once I’m burnt out, I will go back and check on grammar and punctuation.

The serendipity of my writing process eases my mind. It makes me feel like I’m doing something to help the world or just the world that lies inside my noggin. The mediocre work that you find from youth these days shames me.

My art can convey so many different emotions. 

The melancholy feel of my poems, the labyrinth of euphoric writing found in others. The seriousness of my editorials sets a demure vibe. 

Writing will always be my superpower. I may not save the city as ‘your friendly neighborhood poet’, but I will create pieces that may change lives, if not mindsets.