By Shawn Blackhawk

Growing up in America's Heartland, Shawn Blackhawk used her poetry from an early age to express herself. Her philosophy has always been: "I'll try anything once." She uses her words like a brush, painting vivid pictures, evoking as much emotion from her readers as she can. She appreciates struggles, as they pave the road to triumph, and firmly believes that the darkest parts of the human mind and soul are the only way to eventually celebrate the light. She has been recognized for Illuminating Digital Publishing Excellence by Jenkins Group (eLit Awards) and was the 2011 Silver Medal Finalist for the Electronically Published Internet Collation (EPIC Awards). Shawn's poetry book can be purchased at L-Book.com.

When my parents first adopted me, I was introduced to a world I never knew could exist—actually, lots of new, wonderful, and exciting worlds like the world of fairy tales, short stories, and even poetry. My parents were big on story time. They’d tell me and my older brother a story each night before we went to bed. My grandparents, aunts, and uncles would also read to us when they visited. Unfortunately, around the age of 3, my dad advanced at work, and my mom had less time to read to my brother and me. So you know what I did at the ripe old age of 4?  I taught myself to read so I wouldn’t have to rely on others to read to me. I haven’t stopped since.

As you know from my short bio here on Savvy Auntie, I am a poet. Once I had discovered the world of Dickenson, Thoreau, and Poe, there was no going back. I even named my recent rescue cat, Keats, after one of my all-time favorite poets. I’ve heard people say that poetry is a dying art. Apparently, those nay sayers have never read Maya Angelou. After partaking of such incredible talent, how can you say poetry is going the way of the dinosaurs?

When my adopted niece, Kait, found out she was pregnant, we moved her in with us. One of my favorite parts of my days were the blocks of time we set aside to read to her unborn child. I read Winnie the Pooh, parts of The Canterbury Tales, and poetry—poems that were written centuries ago, as well as ones that I had written just recently. As Jelly Bean, who would later be named Atticus, grew in the womb, we could gauge his acceptance of the story or poem by his physical reaction. Some words sat like fruit cake at Christmas with him. Others, he’d twist and turn, kicking his approval upon his mother’s bladder and ribs. He really seemed to like the poetry, and I have to think it was because of the cadence that reading it aloud produces. It’s lyrical, easy on the tongue, and the fact that no two people ever interpret a poem the same way, makes it one of the most fascinating aspects of the art world.

With my other nieces and nephews, they know that I write poetry and novels, and love reading them to sleep. I want them to have the same love of words that I have. I want them to know that words can take us to new worlds or evoke our emotions. I work to write silly poems before visiting, knowing they love them and will laugh. Someday, when they are older, I’ll let them read the poetry I write for a living. Since it’s my form of therapy and is dark in nature, I can’t expect them to understand it, nor where it comes from in regards to my life. I want them to know that writing is a powerful form of therapy, that whether anyone else reads it or not, it still matters. I spent most of my high school career sitting by the nightlight in the room I shared with my sister, writing poetry. Putting my pain down, even if I’m the only person who ever saw it, literally saved my life. Had I not had the ability to write down how I felt when my first love killed herself or how I was dealing with my sexuality, I would have become just another teen suicide statistic. I want all my nieces and nephews, adopted and true family, to know that writing poetry or reading books can save them as it did me.

For now, I’m working on a few new poems for the kids. In between writing for Savvy Auntie, work, composing my upcoming poetry book, as well as writing the alternating chapters in a series I’m co-authoring, the poems I write for the kids are the most important and the most fun.