It Hurts

It hurts to remember

I can see all that I did bluntly wrong

"Why can't you love Me?"

And the other question

I was afraid of

"Why can't I feel emotion"

I shoved the razor blade across

And felt the pain

I smiled in relief to know

I can still feel it.

Then after an hour

The numbness returns

And all that is left

Is my shell

This poem hurts. It's typical teenage nonsense with the customary cutting and absolutely no poetic quality, which is why I am mystified as to why you see this as a poem in the first place. Is it because you've spaced out the lines? That's the only possible reason this could be poetic and even that falls upon observation. Watch this:

It hurts to remember. I can see all that I did bluntly wrong. "Why can't you love Me?" and the other question I was afraid of: "Why can't I feel emotion". I shoved the razor blade across and felt the pain. I smiled in relief to know I can still feel it. Then, after an hour, the numbness returns and all that is left is my shell.

When one puts it this way, one can clearly see the imagery, meaning, and depth that's lost in the superficial coating of the work. If you want this to be saved, then take out the part about cutting and describe your feelings in a way so palpable that the reader can not only see it, but taste it, hear it.

Hope that helped.

Eek! This totally reminds me of a poem. I want to share the poem with you.

Why A Scar Is Better Than Being Good At Swordfighting

The soccer player who was bitten by a shark has a scar that sits under his eye like the fossil of a creature with a spine. Your friends think he gets all the girls because it makes him look tough, but you know that's not it. It's how they can see from the scar how violence failed on him, how it could only manage to glide weakly against his face like a weak splash from a shallow pool. He kicks winning goals, he gets perfect grades and to make matters worse, he's a really nice guy. He's kind and thoughtful and speaks quietly as if he's discussing the delicate childhood of someone nearby. You make everyone laugh with your Australian accent, your impressions of your professors, your ventriloquist act with a sandwich, but that's about it. You even have dates here and there, but you're no match for the soccer player because funny always loses to a scar. At night you stare in the mirror and think about giving yourself one, just to even things up. A quick swipe with a knife would last for years of girls, but you worry that you don't know how far to take the blade or if the bleeding will stop on its own. You'd probably go too deep, puncture an artery and soak the campus in blood; or you'd go too shallow for stitches and end up bandaged and embarrassed, known as a fraud forever. But the real problem is you wouldn't know how to live under a scar; how to act, how to stand, what to say when people say things, so instead you try to carve your initials in the woodframe above the window. And even when the blade goes hot in your hand and the letters break in half against the surface of the grain, you can't stop slicing away at the night.

-- Alex Green

So yeah! That poem has got to be one of my favorite poems of all time. And, seeing as you've brought it to mind, then you definitely have some truth in your writing. And that is the best compliment a writer can have, I think. Because of that, I'm totally going to star your poem.

Still, I think you can do better! And, because I'm such a horribly harsh critic and I want you to improve to the best of your abilities, I'm going to write down some notes that I'm thinking that you can do to make the poem more powerful. Remember... they're only suggestions. ^^ Sometimes, writers will do everything that I ask and then I reread the poem and I realize that they were right with their word choice. It all depends. Anyway, I'll write down the notes and you choose to do what you want with them.

Some notes:

It hurts to remember

I can see all that I did bluntly wrong <-- I would rather you describe the thing that you did "bluntly wrong." It'll make the poem more juicy and dramatic, and trust me... that's always a good thing.

"Why can't you love Me?" <-- Hmmm... interesting choice of capitalization. Usually, only proper nouns or the divine are capitalized. This isn't a proper noun, so that leads me to think that the narrator is referring to himself as a god, almost, since in religious writings, pronouns referring to God are capitalized. And of course, this reminds me of different teachings I've heard. One of the lectures was about the whole 'You shall have no other gods before Me.' And basically, that lecture was about how oftentimes, people view themselves as being before God, so they believe themselves as God subconsciously. Of course, this brings in some interesting questions... if you are before God, how exactly do you propose saving yourself from the emptiness that eventually all humans feel? And I'm pretty sure all humans feel this sort of emptiness. Otherwise, Pascal (awesome chemist!) wouldn't have said, "There is a God-shaped hole in every man that only God can fill." So yeah... ^^ As you probably guessed, I'm a Christian, so I am viewing your poem in a Christian way. Hopefully this won't offend you! I am just fascinated by the particular word choice that you made. It makes me think, and that's good.

And the other question

I was afraid of

"Why can't I feel emotion" <-- This is such a powerful question, and I think you should bring out more. So, in order to bring it out, I suggest making it look like this: "why can't I feel?" This will make it stand out, in a good way, and it'll put emphasis on feeling in general, which will lead better to the razor scene.

I shoved the razor blade across

And felt the pain

I smiled in relief to know

I can still feel it.

Then after an hour

The numbness returns

And all that is left

Is my shell <-- Once again, I think it's interesting that you still say "my shell" instead of "a shell" as if the narrator still possesses the shell, even though he's hollow. One would think that he would become totally detached from his shell, even, so that he would cease to exist, but he's still tied up physically in that shell. And that's pretty clever!


Anyway, I ranted a lot. Hopefully, my rants will help, or at least show you what other people might think as they read your poem. ^^ I tend to think through poetry a lot, so just consider this as a critical reading of your poem. Still, I did like it. Play around with it a bit and see what happens. You have a good grasp of how to handle poetry, so I want to see what you do with a little bit of vague direction. ^_^

It's really late, so if there are parts of this critique that totally doesn't make sense or aren't clear to you, then it's totally my fault and I'm sorry for not critiquing this poem in a more stable state of mind. XD If that is the case, and it probably is, just send me a PM and ask me what I meant and I'll do my best to help you.

Also! WELCOME TO YWS! Usually, I end up introducing our younger members to The Beatles, just because they don't know who they are, so it's nice to see their number one fan here, even though I'm sure my sister would give you a run for the money. XD Anyway, if you need any help whatsoever on YWS, feel free to contact me. I'm here to help. <3

Ok i liked this poem. Although i dont like alot of the imigery. However i think it holds alot that isnt seen right away. With looking deeper into this poem i saw some things. I dont know if what i saw was what the auther intended but never the less its there.


First,

"It hurts to remember

I can see all that I did bluntly wrong

"Why can't you love Me?"

And the other question

I was afraid of

"Why can't I feel emotion"
"
now this i saw as the problem...
the source of everything. or at least a large part of it. And its true soo many people feel this way and experience this so i belive it should be writen about and its important. Now.

"
I shoved the razor blade across

And felt the pain

I smiled in relief to know

I can still feel it.
"

now this.. This seems to be at this point to be the solution to the "problem" right? However for some reason it dosnt seem to make sence and the luky thing is that it seems that the next lines explain it...


"
Then after an hour

The numbness returns

And all that is left

Is my shell
"


And now in reading this it made me forget the first problem and i noticed that, that wasnt the problem at all that this was.. that nothing in the end was changed. you had that hurt from not seeing her again. so a solution was reserected and then nothing comes of it and it seems odd. So i just thought that the way this was writen helped show that the problem isnt what it seems its that the numbness is always there thats the problem and thats what needs to be worked on..... ( Ill just say that now that im at the end of the review that my initial idea was kinda lost i forgot but idk...) but it efected me this poem and i think that is what makes poetry. not the rules, not the words, but the feeling that comes with it. And so i say good job. lol any questions PM me (= hope it helped in some ways....