An Experiential Review on “The Poet X” by Elizabeth Acevedo
“I only know that learning to believe in the power of my own words has been the most freeing experience in my life. It has brought me the most light. Isn’t that what a poem is? A lantern glowing in the dark.” — Xiomara Batista, The Poet X
Elizabeth Acevedo, the author of “The Poet X”
I first heard of Elizabeth Acevedo in the Spring of 2016, when I found out she was coming to visit my college campus as a guest speaker sponsored by the United Greek Council. The campus advisor for the United Greek Coucil was also one of my professors for the semester, and played Acevedo’s mostwell known slam poem “Hair” in class for us to intice us to go see her speak.
I was more than enticed by Acevedo’s words. I was obsessed.
I spent the next three days looking over every single one of her pieces posted on Youtube just to prepare myself with questions about her experience and her work. Who did she study? How long had she been writing? She reminded me so much of myself and was so eloquently able to express herself while still encompassing everything that was in fact herself. Her work was just as stunning as she was.
When the day finally came for her appearance, around 100 students attended the event. Not as many as the organizers who planned it had I wanted, I’m sure, however, the event was intimate enough for all who wanted to meet her at the end of the night to do so.
I immidaitely took advantage of the opportunity.
When I got my chance to speak to Elizabeth, she was very open to my questions, and answered them swiftly. She gave me poets to study, and spoke on her experiences. She was so knowledable, and we ended up having a lot in common when it came to the points we were at in life.
The exchange lasted 15 minutes at the most, and I only got that amount of time simply because I was the last one to speak with her and I probably talked her ear off. But, one of the last things she said to me resonated with me the most.
“Stay consistent. Keep writing, even if you feel like you have nothing to say, keep writing.”
I can’t say that I was able to stay consistent because my life went off the deep end right as the semester ended, however, her words stay in the back of my head now more than ever.
Image provided by Elizabeth Acevedo's Instagram
The Poet X is a work of poetry about a Harlem raised, young dominicana named Xiomara Batista. Xiomara, which is spanish for “one who is ready for war,” lives up to her name. She is strong. She is powerful. She never bites her tongue, and she is not afraid to go to battle for her family and friends. The book goes through a transitional stage in her life. Going from age 15 to age 16, her exploration in her sexuality, and her journey with her family’s religion. Xiomara reminded me of friends I had in grade school, character’s I read in books, but she also reminded me of myself.
I am Xiomara Batista. And no, I don’t mean the character is based off of me — because she surely is not — but her character is me and every individual that can relate to her, particulary afro-latinx individuals.
To feel as if your voice is small. To feel your body is too much or not enough. To feel like you have no control over your life. To feel like you have no sense of faith, or better yet, think all of it is bullshit. To feel what true freedom feels like.
This book forced me to challenge three things about myself:
The intersectionality of my race, ethnicity, and culture. The Poet X made me think about how I saw my intersections as a teenager. That’s the thing. I didn’t.I was under the impression that I could be one way and one way only growing up. I knew I was black. I knew how black people were portrayed, and because I was the only black person in a majority of my classes until I was a teenager, I thought I had to be a certain kind of “black.” However, I didn’t fit that mold at all.
I flowed in and out of the influences of my parent’s cultures and experiences. I spoke Spanish with my father, and would hear Celia Cruz and Eddie Palmari flowing through our car stereo every time we drove around town. I danced ballet and modern with my mother and fell asleep to classical music every night. I had no idea that black people all over the world did the exact same thing so I suffered through years of bullying, self-hatred, and sucidial tendencies simply because I wasn’t “black enough” for everyone else.
So, because I wasn’t “black enough” for anyone, I stopped being myself completely. I stripped every portion of me that I could to replicate whiteness. I stopped speaking Spanish to the point where I lost a grasp with the language. I permed every coil out of my head and dyed it the lightest shade of brown and blonde my scalp could take. I spoke as proper as I could. I strived to be what society wanted, but I hated myself simply because I felt like no onewanted me. It took me going to college to finally start learning about myself and learning to love myself.
For Xiomara’s case, she was lucky enough to live in a city where her heritage and culture was constantly surrounding her. She was able to ask questions about herself, her family, her people, whenever she wanted to (this is all to a certain extent due to the restrictions from both her mother and her church). At her age, I didn’t have that opportunity, but I did have that during my time in my undergraduate studies, and I can relate heavily with the amount of freedom that comes with knowing your history, being informed of your ancestory, and knowing more than what’s been surrounding you your entire life. It feels like chains are being ripped off your feet and that you’ve been awakened from a deep slumber.
My religious upbringing. Like Xiomara, I was raised in the church. Not the Catholic Church, but I ended up being associated with four different branches before stepping away from the church completely. Baptist, Methodist, Lutheran, and Non-Denominational. Xiomara’s experience made me think about how influential my family and my environment was on my relationship with the church, and my relationship with God. I never questioned anything about the church until my senior year of high school. Actually, let me correct myself… I never thought to question anything about the church. I assumed everything about my family’s religion was truth because it was all I knew. Once I surrounded myself with people who believed in so many other faith’s throughout this world, people who believed in nothing at all, and people who didn’t know what to believe but knew something divine was out there. I questioned it all.
Xiomara had a much more confrontal experience at a much younger age than I. In what is possibly my favorite peom in this whole book, Xiomara confronts her lead missionary in the middle of her confirmation class, head on. The moment is glorious (and shortened here for reading purposes):
“I Think the Story of Genisis is Mad Stupid”
“God made the Earth in seven days? / Including humans, right? / But in biology we learned / dinosaurs existed on Earth / for millions of years / before other species … / unless the seven days is a metaphor? /… What’s not a metaphor? / Did any of it actually happen?”
Y’all. All of my edges were snatched back after reading through this poem. If I had an ounce of bravery this girl had growing up, I would’ve been well into knowing more about myself and my identity prior to leaving home for my collegiate studies. I also would’ve been more willing to finding my spirituality and faith on my own.
My fear associated to sharing my voice. As I got older, I stopped sharing as often as I did when I was younger. I used to be the first one with her hand up in the air, ready to share her opinion. However, I noticed how no one really listened when I had something to say. I didn’t know if people thought I spoke too much or if they felt my opinon was irrelevant, but either way it went, I stopped speaking out almost completely until I got to college. Once I was in school, I felt like people actually cared about my opinion. I felt like I had a voice again.
In The Poet X, Xiomara’s experiences showcase her growth with finding her voice as a young adult. She allows her identity to flow through her words while showcasing her creativity and artistry. Because we’re looking into her journal and thoughts, we’re seeing how she processes conflict. We see her joy, pain, hurt, and her heartbreak. We feel her emotions. You can hear her New York accent blasting through the pages. Her voice is vibrant and it grows like a fire as the book goes on.
I loved The Poet X. It’s a great read for young poets, writers, young women of color, and any who frankly wants to read a great coming-of-age story. I resonated with it heavily and cannot wait to read what Acevedo puts out next. The Poet X being her debut novel, Acevedo is destined to do incredibly things with her writing career.
The Poet X is available to purchase in hardcover or kindle on Amazon. For more information about Elizabeth Acevedo, visit http://www.acevedowrites.com.
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