In a Poetic Vice Grip by Grayson

Graysonof Phoenix's entry into Varsity Tutor's March 2014 scholarship contest

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Grayson of Phoenix, AZ
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In a Poetic Vice Grip by Grayson - March 2014 Scholarship Essay

My greatest Academic achievement was not through reward, it actually came in a moment of failure. Last year, my Honors Junior English class was tasked with writing and submitting an essay for the Ethic's Essay contest. While the scholarship money was small, our teacher believed it to be a valid opportunity to widen our horizons outside the normal humdrum of school essays about a book, or other piece of literature. Whilst describing it, she had mentioned that there were no parameters to the style of the essay. I was curious as to why she stated that, so I had stayed after class to converse with her on that. I had found out that the scholarship foundation had no requirements on formatting, so MLA, and APA formats were not an addressed requirement. So, I did what I do best, and went home that night to write a nine page poem.

The essay began like this:
Dear Mr. President, what have we done?
Our world is so far gone,
and we have done nothing.
You address the common issues
the ones we all can see.
But where does your sight end and true vision begin?
Several days later, I had brought in my first draft to be “peer reviewed” by my classmates, and several of my friends. Soon, I had found myself as the talk of the classroom.
“Did you here? So-and-so is writing a poem for his essay. A poem!”

I didn't know whether to take comments like that one as positive, or negative, so I just let it be. I corrected grammar, and continued moving forwards. Like all essays, I hit roadblocks. Writer’s block is quite the killer of moods. I had moments where I could sit for hours on end, and do nothing but add page upon page of the poem. At other times, I just walked around in circles about the dining room, where I work, and just let my thoughts hit brick walls. Eventually, the date came when it was time to turn in the essays. I and my friends sat in the hallway reading over each others, and when my friends all got to mine, they were shocked. The topic of the essay was to address a large issue in the world, and suggest how to fix it. But, my topic was gruesome. Mine was about how money led to bloodshed, famine, destruction, and overall, a bleak future. To put it simply, I let my mind run wild and crazy, and let my details in the poem follow along the guidelines set down by my favorite author: Edgar Allen Poe. My friends all thought of the poem as graphic, and even somewhat disturbing, but they all understood the underlying message.

It drives our market.
It controls our minds.
It bends our thoughts.
And we cannot stop it,
for we are its creator.

My teacher seemed to understand it too, because out of all of her classes, she deemed mine the best, and it sits in the hallway of our school under the pane of glass titled: Best Essays. I was proud of my achievement, and couldn't wait to have it read by the scholarship committee. Several months later, I checked the online results, to have my heart broken. I saw the results, and my essay wasn't even worthy of an honorable mention. I read over fifteen essays to understand what I did wrong, and the thing is, I saw the truth. They did care about all that nonsense about formatting. All the essays that won, were written in MLA formatting, or something quite similar. Creativity was not even part of their awards. But, I realized, that I still won. My essay is still in our school, on record for all to see. So, I learned a lesson I had even unknowingly mentioned in the final verse of my poem:

I rest, knowing I have made my purpose.
I write with the knowledge that I,
as the near future will be also clouded.
Now as I write, I care not for the prize,
the money that allies itself with accolade
I do not want. It only pleases me to know,
I am influential in our future,
and money is not a worthy desire.

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