It Was Not Meant For Me

It was not meant for me.
It was not made of gold, or silver or wood.

Crouched bitterly, you see?
Hidden from your touch, your eyes if I could.

Your hair smells like candles,
Like apples and gypsies and warm summer days.

Your eyes latched like handles.
On my green checkered bedspread I’d pray and pray,

That someday, some way I’d
find a way out
Of this warm summer night and

Never look back, not till I died.

Hmmm... this poem is quite ambiguous but therein lies its virtue:

"…Bazin would be obliged to say that the real exists only as perceived, that situations can be said to exist only when a consciousness is engaged with something other than itself. In this view reality is not a completed sphere the mind encounters, but an “emerging- something” which the mind essentially participates in. Here the notion of ambiguity...is more than a result of human limitation. Here ambiguity is a central at tribute of the real. For Marcel and Merleau-Ponty, there can be no complete knowledge of a situation, but instead a more and more sensitive response to the mysterious otherness which consciousness engages. Thus ambiguity becomes a value, a measure of the depths of the real "

There really isn't enough written that i can find anything to take away that would not hurt what I believe to be the poems intended purpose. I think the break in the rhyme scheme at the end helped drive the point home. Keep it up.

Hey drawers i get that you are into poetry so ill give my review in it . Poetry doesn't really have to make sense you just write what you are thinking and theres is defiantly no write or wring way for it ince you know what you are doing - this is what i believe anyways ;

It was not meant for me.
It was not made of gold, or silver or wood.

I get the point that you are trying to make, but it would be better if it was like this
".... wood, or silver or gold" as it seems more sensible that way, maybe its just me,

Crouched bitterly, you see?
I would hide from your touch, your eyes if I could.

The first line seems odd to me but i cant seem to correct it .
The second line got me thinking, doesn't it seem odd i mean ".. to HIDE from your touch"
i believe it would make much sense to the reader as
"i would hide from your eyes, your touch if could..."

Your hair smells like candles,
Like apples and gypsies and warm summer days.

Ok i don't get a connection her between candles and gypsies.. i mean gypsies are roman people aren't they?

(by the way i think smell of candles from you hair would be gross, lol)

Your eyes latched like handles.
On my green checkered bedspread I’d pray and I’d pray,

This one needs to seriously be re-written cause the two lines atleast need to make one sixth of connection and they seriously dont.

that someday, some way I’d
find a way out of this warm summer night and

never look back, not till I died.

i again understand the thoughts you tried to portray and i think the ending was good better then the rest of the piece. The end should have been, not till i "die" rather then died

You could have polished the art work in a better way though.

Hope i helped
Yours Truly
-Alexx

I loved the rhyme scheme and the way the words flowed with a constant rhythym. The last line, however, should read "not till i die", rather than "not till I died". Otherwise it was great!

Drawers wrote:It was not meant for me.
It was not made of gold, or silver or wood.

Crouched bitterly, you see?
Hidden from your touch, your eyes if I could.

Your hair smells like candles,
Like apples and gypsies and warm summer days.

Your eyes latched like handles.
On my green checkered bedspread I’d pray and pray,

That someday, some way I’d
find a way out
Of this warm summer night and

Never look back, not till I died.

The meaning of the poem remains hidden from the reader, and I really admire that; poetry should always be a mystery. Just a few grammatical suggestions to help the flow, but the poem was fantastic. Your use of imagery was great. Keep writing, you have great talent!