Them

Ghostly silk sheets hang over the moon,
Dimming the little light.

No one else is here,
Shattering my little hope.

A leaf falls in a puddle,
Rippling the water.

Laughter fills the room,
My heart drops to my stomach.

Tips are missing, no perfect shape.
Lacking beauty, big hips, not perfect.

Wind pulls its light weight upwards.

They stare at me,
Goosebumps sneak up my arms.

I need out.
I can’t be here anymore.
How scared I really am is too much.

They’re here, smiling,
Laughing at how much I fear them.
Laughing at how much I want their acceptance.

They whisper, so low that I can’t hear.
A prickling sensation moves up my back,
Like an anxious spider in waiting.

Laughter starts again.
They leave me.
I have to go back, reality is waiting.


PLEASE REVIEW! Its very important, for a contest I'm entering.

lakegirls wrote:Ghostly silk sheets hang over the moon,
Dimming the little light.

No one else is here,
Shattering my little hope.

The word "Shattering" ruins the beginning. The poem seems to be silent at first and suddenly there's a shattering, followed by more silence (such as a leaf's quiet descent into water, which I imagine is quiet). "Shattering" needs to go and be replaced with something less intrusive.

A leaf falls in a puddle,
Rippling the water.

Laughter fills the room,
My heart drops to my stomach.

The leaf analogy to life was good but the stanza about laughter and hearts is too cliched and sours the feel of the otherwise original piece. Replace these trite phrases with new ones, ones that preferably have to do with the leaf/nature connection instead of body parts.

Tips are missing, no perfect shape.
Lacking beauty, big hips, not perfect.

Wind pulls its light weight upwards.

They stare at me,
Goosebumps sneak up my arms.

I need out.
I can’t be here anymore.
How scared I really am is too much.

They’re here, smiling,
Laughing at how much I fear them.
Laughing at how much I want their acceptance.

What happened? Your decent poem degenerated into a complaint about how no one likes you. That is the absolute worst theme to have when not presented properly, and this is certainly not presented properly. You just threw that stanza of wanting to be accepted at us like a bag of wet noodles and expected us to catch it. It's too abrupt a change from the earlier swinging, naturistic and silent mode that the poem used to contain.

They whisper, so low that I can’t hear.
A prickling sensation moves up my back,
Like an anxious spider in waiting.

Laughter starts again.
They leave me.
I have to go back, reality is waiting.

See above. This is more description and the imagery just dropped off after a few good stanzas. Please use the first half of your poem as inspiration to better the second half.

It feels very Van Gogh to me thats a compliment haha I meant in a good way. Your poem is haunting piece of work but also beautiful. Nice job keep it up!