what I left behind

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What I left behind

Pictures that say more than words
taped onto her wall,
everyone of them were loved
but she left them all,

Paints in different color tubes
strewn across the floor,
it wasn’t beauty, it was emotion
she doesn’t paint her happiness anymore,

Dolls sit on an unmade bed
a special one, on a chair,
one eye, chewed off toes, no cloths
she left her "Erica doll," there

Cd cases filled with songs
she couldn’t ever assign a cost
the songs were songs of memories
all there melodies are lost

Baby books filled with pictures
of the time before "the storm"
the better times only in her mind
the proof is shredded and torn,

Friends lay across the lawn
every hour of any day
laughing, teasing, loving,
we all just moved away

Her uncle house is up the road
she will never love that much again
he still is her family and confidant,
but he no longer is her friend


Dads house is cities away
she lost him in "the storm"
a bond was never made,
and now one will never form,


The things i left behind,
are things that cant be seen
To big to fit in a suit case
all theses things were me.




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Hi hardlove and welcome to YWS! Just FYI, one of our main rules at YWS is that everyone reviews at least two pieces for every one they post. This means that everyone gets several reviews for their work and the forums aren't flooded with unreviewed pieces. Just do four reviews before posting your next poem and you'll be fine! :)

Now, on to the poem itself. Overall, I really liked this. I was a little confused as to what exactly happened, but you had some great images that captured the emotions well. The rhyme scheme mostly worked as well, although there were a few rough spots (I'm horrible with rhyme, so I'll let other reviewers talk about that).

The main flaw that stuck out to me was a few typos and some grammatical errors. The most notable were a "there melodies" (it should be "their melodies" and lots of missing commas and periods. I'd look over this again and just make the punctation like what you would have in a story. There's a few other typos but I think you can catch them if you look over this again more carefully. Actually, I just noticed there's a few in the last stanza so I'll just revise that one.

The things I left behind
are things that can't be seen.
Too big to fit in a suitcase,
all these things were me.

Aside from the nit-picky things, this was a lovely poem with some fantastic images. I really liked the ones with the dolls and the baby books. Great job and keep writing!
"You do ill if you praise, but worse if you censure, what you do not understand." Leonardo Da Vinci

<YWS><R1>




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I really like the emotion in this.

Like niteowl said I don't know what happened, but it still has good discription.

Anyway yeah I like it so keep writing and reviewing.
My reality comes to a close as I once again realize that you don't love me, and even if I love you with my everything you will never care.





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[quote=]What I left behind

Pictures that say more than words
taped onto her wall,
everyone of them were loved
but she left them all(.) Make this a period.

Paints in different color tubes
strewn across the floor(.)
(I)t wasn’t beauty, it was emotion(;)
she doesn’t paint her happiness anymore(.)

Dolls sit on an unmade bed(;)
a special one on a chair(.)
(O)ne eye, chewed off toes, no cloths(.)--- should be "clothes"
(S)he left her "Erica (D)oll," there(.)<--- No comma after in the quotes

Cd* cases filled with songs * should be CD
she couldn’t ever assign a cost(.)
(T)he songs were songs of memories(;)
all there* melodies are lost(.) * should be "their"

Baby books filled with pictures
of the time before "the storm"(;)
the better times only in her mind(,)
the proof is shredded and torn(.)

Friends lay across the lawn
every hour of any day(.)
(L)aughing, teasing, loving(;)
we all just moved away(.)

Her uncle('s) house is up the road(.)
(S)he will never love that much again(;)
he still is her family and confidant,
but he no longer is her friend(.)


Dad(')s house is cities away(;)
she lost him in "the storm"(.)
(A) bond was never made,
and now one will never form(.)


The things (I) left behind,
are things that can(')t be seen(.)
To* big to fit in a suit case(;) *too
all theses things were me.[/quote]

Hi Hardlove ^^ Welcome to YWS! I'll be your reviewer for today. As you can see above I fixed the technical parts of your poem. The thing that's really bugging me is how you quote "the storm". I think italics would work better because quotes are too much emphasis and it breaks the whole flow.

Your rhyme scheme is eating up your poem. I like the idea here, but you're focusing too much on the rhyming. "Storm" and "torn" don't rhyme.

You do too much telling and not enough showing. Incorporate the 5 senses in this poem! Show us and don't tell! Use imagery! Use literary devices! Play it up a bit! I want your emotions to get through in this poem.

Keep Writing ^^
-Shina
You cannot dream yourself into a character; you must hammer and forge yourself into one.

The writer, when he is also an artist, is someone who admits what others don't dare reveal.




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Hey, Hardlove,


Awesome poem. It made me kinda sad and appreciate the things I have. To me, this poem gives me kinda the creeps sometimes in a good way. Like errie music. A silver colour at points, and a dark charcoal black at others.


Dads house, the Dads needs a ' so it's Dad's



Overall, it was a beautiful poem making me think.
A soul is like someone's true colour, take it away, and you're leaving them in a grey aura ~elite~




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this is wonderful!
I really enjoy the emotion in it, and love the way you used your words, it is, indeed, very solom, but I congratulate you in a wonderful peice!




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ohh wow... your poem was really.... emotional.
I think I'm on the verge of crying.
This poem really shows how someone can be happy,
but then it could all bedestroyed and I think you have something here.



In short, Mrs. Pontellier was beginning to realize her position in the universe as a human being, and to recognize her relations as an individual to the world within and about her.
— Kate Chopin, The Awakening