It was a calm Wednesday morning in my small town High School. The sound of faint chattering among peers echoed through the room before the start of my AP Literature and Composition course. We had just began our poetry section, something I had always despised. Immediately the task of reading and ripping apart the poem “The Sick Rose” was placed at our feet. After an hour of intense deliberation we came to no conclusion. The concept of this poem went completely over all 13 of our heads. The bell soon rang, releasing us of our academic discussion. Everyone had left without a second thought to the poem. I, however, was completely captivated by the context of this poem.
I could not get these simple eight lines out of my head. Luckily for me, my next class was with the same English teacher during her prep hour. As the chatter in the hallways cleared I stood up out of my seat and wrote the poem on the board. My frustration was released through the screeches of white board markers. I begged her to help me understand. She just smiled, faintly nodding her head and told me she would guide me through the process. For the next 45 minutes I went through word by word, line by line, coming up with a different story every time. I spit out any idea I had, no matter how ridiculous it sounded. “Vampires!” I announced with full confidence. She laughed and shook her head in despair. I was giving all hope until it hit me. “Rape… it’s about rape”, I whispered in complete disbelief. Poetry I was previously given never had a meaning as deep and dark and this one. If it did, it was way more obvious. I honestly could not believe something like this could exist. A wave of relief hit me as I thought I had figured it all out and could finally stop obsessing over this poem, but that’s never really the case in English.
My teacher then decided to tell me that I had only found one of four themes in this one stupid poem! I had to find three more completely different meanings in the same 8 lines. But, I soon realized that my mind has been opened to a completely new concept of poetry and the next 3 came to me like a drop of a hat. A spark of new love hit me in the chest. I wanted to know more. I wanted to tear apart everything.
I realize now that if I hadn’t took initiative and asked for this help I would still be where I was a year ago, ignoring a beautiful part of literature. Having my teacher encourage me in going crazy for a hour is something I will never forget and will be forever thankful for. She never told me I was being too imaginative. She never told me to stop over analyzing because she knew I would understand eventually. I had my own path of creative understanding I needed to explore before understanding came easy. She has always been a great sponsor in my life and I would not be going where I am today with out this moment.