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Brandon M. Lawrence
Professor Cato
EH 091 - 6BC
20 September 2016
Strengthened by Music and Poetry
I’ve always used poetry and music to release stress and depression. I remember my
grandmother saying, “You’re granny’s grandbaby and you’ll always have me here for anything.”
I guess she was right, because even after her death she helped me start a writing process.
Something I had no interest in doing before her death. Losing my grandmother to cancer in
second grade was a major milestone. I wrote about that experience many times, probably enough
to fill the walls of China. I incorporated that experience into poetry and music. A few close
relatives and friends heard what I made and notice my talent. I used to hate writing anything,
now I can write an entire song in five minutes, with no hesitation. My most recent song includes
the following lyrics,
“I thought this was the land of the free,
Free for everybody except me.
A black man in America,
The worst thang you could ever be.”
Before I discovered a successful writing process, I had no drive or motivation when I
began to write a paper. I always needed help; however, I was ashamed to ask for help. After, I
finished an assignment, I was never satisfied with my work. It was never a point that I learned to
do correct sentence structure. My vocabulary capacity wasn’t very broad. This was also

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depressing. I couldn’t focus or write an essay without having music playing in the room. My
raggedy old stereo was always screaming lyrics by Young Jeezy:
“My president is black, my Lambo's blue
and I be God damn if my rims ain't too.
My momma ain't at home and daddy still in jail,
tryna make a plate, anybody seen the scale?”
As most kids do I stressed my parents out with each assignment. Always waited to the
last minute to do assignments; consequently, this put pressure on my parents. My parents didn’t
allow late assignments, whatsoever. Although, we were frustrated and tired, just hours before
school was about to start, my mom and I put final touches on research papers or essays. Mother
would look at me with a twisted mouth and say,
“Brandon if you ever wait dis late again
I’m going to whoop your ass myself.
You won’t have to worry bout’ your dad,
It’s going to be me!
Nie do you undastand me?”
With a soft guilty voice I responded,
“Yes ma’am.”
During my younger days I wanted to rush through assignments; therefore, I wouldn’t
have to worry about it anymore. The thought of what I would be allowed to do if I finished my
paper by a certain time forced me to rush through the assignment. I never did outlines because I
figured they were a waste of time. I never looked over my assignments before I turned them in.
Once, I was finished I never looked back.

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Later in life, I began a creative writing class in ninth grade at Pinson Valley High School.
I was one of three males in a class of thirty people. Also, out of all the people in the class, I was
the youngest and a freshman. Therefore, the teacher, Mr. Dick put me at the center of attention
several times during class. I will never forget how weird I thought he was. This never really
changed; he just proved the rumors were true about him. Mr. Dick was bald with an egg shaped
head and had a fluffy farmer looking beard. He wore white button down shirts, black ties, and
country clown shoes every day. He taught differently than any other teacher and many teachers
disagreed with the way he taught his class.
Mr. Dick Actually cared for his students and their progress while in his class. I was
always nervous to stand up and present my thoughts or assignments aloud, but this class changed
that forever. We had a daily assignment in class, which we listened to different music we usually
never heard before. I can’t name one song that we listened to. All I remember is ninety percent of
it was within the metal genre. Then we had to write a poem or short story on how it made us feel.
Afterwards, we were picked randomly to stand up and present to the class. The juniors and
seniors in the class had a facial expression of doubt, the first time I ever stood up. After,
sweating and nervously speaking aloud, I got a sign of respect from them. The class clapped in
amazement.
Mr. Dick assigned us a journal to write literally everything in, that we felt needed to be
written down, in or out of school. We would turn them in every week and he would read our
journals in private. No matter how personal our inserts were he always left it between him and
the student. An example of my journal:
“Wish grandma could make my graduation.
Wish she could see my college graduation.

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Wish granddad never died before I was created.
The consequences of drugs, cancer, and incarceration.”
I remember Mr. Dick assigned us a project to write a song with our own lyrics. I was
sitting in my next class thinking about the assignment. I was too anxious to wait until I got home,
so I started to write. At that moment I found my interest in lyrics. The next day I turned in my
assignment. Suddenly he called me outside the class to speak privately. Then, he told me how
talented I was to be the youngest in his class. After impressing him on numerous occasions with
things I wrote, Mr. Dick stopped making me the center of attention. I guess because, I made
myself the center of attention in a room full of women, who merely listened to my essays and
poetry every day.
In conclusion, this all helped me establish a writing process that I still use on every
narrative essay today. Writing music forced me to include vivid detail in lyrics, furthermore,
helping me include vivid detail in essays and other assignments. I noticed organizing my
thoughts in a poetry form, also helped me make outlines. Writing my own music helped me learn
to show my emotion naturally. I solved my focusing issue by letting music play on my phone or
radio, while typing my essays and research papers. It might sound odd; however, that simple task
helped me focus on many occasions. Finding my talent in music and poetry helped strengthen
my writing process.