behind the poem or that's not my name

so, last week at work was dedicated to celebrating and recognizing the creative force within the company. that's right, the word people. i attended a few events, as they were during the middle of my work day. two of which were a poetry circle and workshop. those who attended the poetry circle were primarily "writers" and i was the only "assoc. editor" there. some eyebrows raised; including my own because it was one of the first times (in a very long time) where i was in a space where it was not UNDERSTOOD that i was a writer. i felt like mos def's mr. nigga (they lips curl up into a tight space/ She [they]don't believe that I'm in the right place). then, by happenstance, i made it into a previously booked poetry workshop (some people dropped out) for which i had written no material because, orginally, there was not room for me. the prompt was to take two dissimilar things, outside of yourself, and write about them, drawing a relationship or connection between the two. well, i had less than two days, and since none of my existing poetry spoke to this particular topic, i found myself at my desk 30 minutes before i was to email my submission to the coordinator, writing "double dutch". i originally called it "dutch romance" - big mistake. nobody got it until i said, "well, the 2 dissimilar things i attempted to link were double dutch and a relationship." "OOOHHH!!!!" said everyone (except for the few who needed further explanation that double dutch was a game of jumping rope, oy vey!). it yielded little to no dicussion, and all the facilitator had to say was, "i think we need more." yeah, i was beat for a little while. there was one another Black woman there - a writer; she said to me on the elevator when we were leaving, "i was saying to myself 'something about it sounds like jump rope.'" and i think to myself, yeah sis, i know you heard me. i overly racialized the situation for a minute. thought back to my pivotal workshop with Nikky Finney and how this was nothing like that, but after i was cool on it i accepted the criticism. these were all very good writers, some of them eve great, one of them an actual laureate. and i didn't walk into the room 4 steps after a reputation that beat me there. so this is what it's like for a writer to hit a reader cold. perhaps this was the difference between creating in craft and creating in spirit (is that too far fetched of me?). there is much i can gain from these craftsmen. they may not be spoken wordsmiths, but they are in the guild. at the very least/ best it made me write. and for that i am thankful. i flashed back to "the negro artist and the racial mountain;" well langston, being a black poet suites me just fine and i don't perceive that as a demotion.