The instructor said
Go home and write
A page tonight
And let that page come out of you
Then, it will be true
I am an antisocial person
I wonder if I’ll ever like being around people
But I just get too nervous
And want to avoid any anxiety
I wonder if other people feel like that about me
I wonder if they think I don't like them
Do they know what it's like?
I don’t think so, or they would leave me alone
I could talk to them, but I’d rather listen to music or read
I just don’t want to deal with the stress of a crowd
So, I don’t interact
And I’m content to do this
Because most of the time, I’d prefer it
I think, “Will there be someone who can change this?”
Then I think no, because I am who I am
I have a small group of friends who fit me
They love me for me
Besides, I prefer that to the fake friends associated with a big friend group.
I don’t need that
And it’s keeping stress away
At least i hope it is
Eventually I might be more social
So thats a problem for future me
Hopefully social is something I can be
Credit to Langston Hughes for the original
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/47880/theme-for-english-b
The instructor said,
Go home and write
a page tonight.
And let that page come out of you—
Then, it will be true.
I wonder if it’s that simple?
I am twenty-two, colored, born in Winston-Salem.
I went to school there, then Durham, then here
to this college on the hill above Harlem.
I am the only colored student in my class.
The steps from the hill lead down into Harlem,
through a park, then I cross St. Nicholas,
Eighth Avenue, Seventh, and I come to the Y,
the Harlem Branch Y, where I take the elevator
up to my room, sit down, and write this page:
It’s not easy to know what is true for you or me
at twenty-two, my age. But I guess I’m what
I feel and see and hear, Harlem, I hear you:
hear you, hear me—we two—you, me, talk on this page.
(I hear New York, too.) Me—who?
Well, I like to eat, sleep, drink, and be in love.
I like to work, read, learn, and understand life.
I like a pipe for a Christmas present,
or records—Bessie, bop, or Bach.
I guess being colored doesn’t make me not like
the same things other folks like who are other races.
So will my page be colored that I write?
Being me, it will not be white.
But it will be
a part of you, instructor.
You are white—
yet a part of me, as I am a part of you.
That’s American.
Sometimes perhaps you don’t want to be a part of me.
Nor do I often want to be a part of you.
But we are, that’s true!
As I learn from you,
I guess you learn from me—
although you’re older—and white—
and somewhat more free.
This is my page for English B.
