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Minor Instabilities
Contributed by
Forgotten_soul
on
Sunday, 31st August 2008 @ 03:07:22 AM in AEST
Topic:
psychoticpoems
|
I think I want to wake up
where I'm not so desensitized
to the hell we've created,
I want to wretch on the concrete
like I can't bare to look at myself anymore.
like I'm
too sick to swallow
my own demented intentions.
I want to feel naked
and exposed in my own home,
because I know it's a prison now.
I know every crack in every wall
is leaking my secrets.
I want to know I'm pathetic
and down to nothing
when I crawl on my belly
and still dream
of beautiful bones
and wax smiles.
I want to be just conscious enough
to choke
back the tears
and laugh at you,
just so we know where
I'm standing.
Copyright ©
Forgotten_soul
... [
2008-08-31 03:07:22]
(Date/Time posted on
site)
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Re: Minor Instabilities
(User Rating: 1 )
by elle on
Monday, 1st September 2008 @ 04:04:05 PM AEST
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| No doubt, powerful & directly to several points. Fascinatingly complete ending. I love. . . peace. elle |
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Re: Minor Instabilities
(User Rating: 1 )
by Former_Member on
Friday, 5th September 2008 @ 03:37:17 PM AEST
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Now sir this is more like it. No, this is not exceptional by any means but you do obviously have talent and if you actually do the things metaphorically to your spirit and heart that you speak of in this poem you will find your own personal poetic greatness. You got to dig for more then what is already been said. I see you digging. You just have to dig deeper. When you hit the oil you will be flowing with amazing captivating poetry. You will express yourself with a clarity that helps you understand who YOU are and helps us respect the poet inside of you. Reach for the unwritten words inside, the words that don't exist. The flow of ghosts, the style that was never invented. You will never find these things. You will never be able to write them because they don't exist. But what you write along the journey of chasing poetic myths and ghosts is when poetry is beyond brilliant. It is when the poet dies to make way for the tape worm of words inside of him. Poetry in it's most amazing moment is a failure. A failure to get to the end of the trail. Yet it strives, lives, achieves, and is hailed because of it's journey. The poet will lose but he will never stop fighting, he will never stop asking, stop hoping, stop pushing. The poet is the fool. Every poet is a fool.
I agree I was quick to judge you as a poet though I still stand firm on my comments about the piece I did this on. You have not only a quill but a shovel. I see that you have talent and there are things in you untapped. You have to keep digging! You have to write so hard that you break into a cold sweat and your fingertips become callassed over.
You have this ability. You can either settle at what you've already written (yes I read your other works) or you can dig deeper. Honestly though you have the talent (the shovel) I think you may have peaked because you simply have no strength. (just my opinion)
I notice you have posted 60 poems and have commented on 40. How do you expect to comprehend poetic expression if you do not read it? How can you expect us to understand you if you don't take the time to attempt to understand us. As long as you are a self absorbed ranting poet of challenging word vomit this is the best you will ever write. You want to say something about my comments on you? You want to prove me wrong? You want to be a poet? DO YOU WANT TO BE A POET or DO YOU WANT TO BE A WHINING PAINSY?
A poet bleeds, weeps, tears, scars, and rips the scabs, he digs, he pleads, he f****, he fights, he embrasses, he takes, he begs without pride, he lives on his knees with his fists to the sky! IF YOU WANT TO BE A POET pull your pants up, shut up, quit whining and take this world on with word weaponry. Be the person behind some of these lines, rid the person behind all of them.
Shut up, read, and write and I will be looking at a poet. Right now I see verses without the fool. I see curses without a voice. I see a whimp without a set large enough to call himself a fool! Take your shovel and dig with the rest of us, or go sit in a meadow somewhere and cry about the butterflies and buttercups!
Keep writing!
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