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Literature Text
my body is a road map
of hazard signs
& do-not-touch-me's.
but on the days
when the mirror
is nice to me,
i can hear
whispering voices
like little racing
heartbeats
beneath my skin:
you are not worthless.
you are strong.
your ribcage has a meaning-
these bruises are
con ons,
ste ti & you are the Milky Way.
lla
-dp
of hazard signs
& do-not-touch-me's.
but on the days
when the mirror
is nice to me,
i can hear
whispering voices
like little racing
heartbeats
beneath my skin:
you are not worthless.
you are strong.
your ribcage has a meaning-
these bruises are
con ons,
ste ti & you are the Milky Way.
lla
-dp
Literature
Before I Can Become a Writer
Develop insomnia. Develop
problems with substance abuse,
nothing serious, but enough
that I can say “write drunk,
edit sober” and mean it.
Drink tea. Write about drinking
tea. Take up smoking, ignore
the thoughts about it being
a slower suicide. Write about
suicide. Don’t mean it.
Write about sunsets and
ink veins. Mean it.
Fall in love with someone
who will never love me back.
Lament. Write a million
crappy poems and two good
ones. Never show him.
Move on. Write a few more
bad poems. Fall in love with
someone perfect. Screw it up.
Fall in love with someone awful.
Call him perfect. Screw it up.
Cry. Cry for the inevitab
Literature
Star-crossed
You woke up on
the wrong side of
a cosmic bed
A pillow of
nebulae,
crushed
under your head
Meteorites
are all the tears
which you have shed
Your ring finger
is Saturn,
yet
remains unwed
Forever lost
in outer space
among a dreamed
starry array
Your light shines bright
lightyears away
but not enough
to seize the day
Star-crossed
and vaccum-cleaned,
sleep-tossed
and solar-weaned
Let your love be
a tesseract-
then I'll wish to
become Titan.
Literature
Crayon Soulmates
Dear Stars,
I have a bone to pick with you. You see, when I was six, I called myself the nowhere girl... and I coloured myself a soulmate. I made him on crumpled sheets, with broken pieces of crayon, on a playground that was too busy wondering whether growing up entailed stealing their mother's cigarettes and their father's dirty magazines (I suppose I was already wise enough to know that growing up meant choosing one of the many ways of breaking yourself in two.)
I hope you remember him, stars...he was important to me (My best friend threw that drawing away on my seventh birthday and told me that someone like me was not supposed to have su
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Overall Vision
Originality Technique ImpactI loved the 'road map' and 'constellations' metaphors that were interwoven with overall focus on the body; they made for great imagery and emotion. It took me a minute to grasp that the triangular shape at the end of the poem was a ribcage, but once I did, I found it to be a nice fit. The '&'s at the third and last stanza seem a bit out of place, as there are no other abbreviations throughout the poem, but you're the poet and it's your call, in my opinion. Besides, they have little effect on the impact of the poem, anyway. Keep writing!