In my college dorm room, I shyly wrote poetry. I didn’t love sharing it in my first poetry class. I thought I was the worst poet and the upperclassmen wrote lines that circled around mine and made my head spin. I took poetry because I’d been speaking this language for as long as I could remember. It spoke to me in a way that made me stop. It made me pay attention. It forced me to pause, to listen. One line from a poem would toss in my head over and over like laundry in the washing machine and th…