Birthdays

I used to think the only way that time flew
was to throw my alarm out the window.
On those cold and bitter nights I wake to find
My soft complexion fading away, to be
Replaced by wrinkles and pimples and
Maybe a scar or two from fighting with that girl
Who had the diamond ring on her fist.

When I realize I’ve been cut I know forever
I am not immortal. I am nothing but a simulation
Created by the sick godly mind that I swore was my own.

Who intended for me to know that I was
Growing haggard and aged with the times?
Like the shore break, soon I shall be sucked in,
Leaving nothing but a few washed up foot prints and
a worn red journal with doodles of the sunset.

Once I thought that I would be remembered,
Then I realized to have a memorial you need to be dead.
I will never die. My spirit will not wither away that easily.
Exorcise her as much as you please she will not go but
will retrieve that little journal and write about how
The scars of her past are long behind her and healed.

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Something I whipped together at the apprent spur of the moment. I want this as good as Masquarade people, so, chop chop, help me with my commas. I'm making a comeback... at least until I get tired. And Brad, be sure to use very big words in your critique, I might look them up.
---Elizabeth
PS. Happy Birthday To Me...

The poem seems to have ADD. Like, it;s humorous at one point and then very serious the next, so it's kind of strange.

Still, you have all these messages that you're giving out, but I can't help but think that perhaps these messages are a bit too contrived. They don't seem original enough. You're telling us that you're strong and can handle life, but I don't know.

First, narrow down your poem. What do you wish to convey about yourself? What one thing is more important than anything? (And yes, this is hard, but you can do it!) Narrow it down as much as you can and then try to focus on the images you wish to show and the messages that are worthwhile to the poem, as far as what you want to know. You see, you can't just spew messages out and hope we get it. I can stand a little preachiness, but not that much. So narrow it down and you'll have something.

Hope that helps!

hey! I thought the last stanza seemed to contradict the previous ones, but overall I did like it and it had some great imagery. With a bit of fine tuning this could be really nice.

Elizabeth wrote:I used to think the only way that time flew
was [s]to[/s] by throw(ing) my alarm (clock) out (of) the window.
On those cold and bitter nights I wake to find
My soft complexion fading away, to be
Replaced by wrinkles and pimples and
Maybe a scar or two from fighting with that girl.
The one who had the diamond ring on her fist.

When I realize I’ve been cut I know [s]forever[/s]
I am not immortal. I am nothing but a simulation
Created by the sick godly mind that I swore was my own.

Who intended for me to know that I was
Growing haggard and aged with the times?
Like the shore break, soon I shall be sucked in,
Leaving nothing but a few washed up foot prints and
a worn red journal with doodles of the sunset.

Once I thought that I would be remembered,
[s]Then[/s] I then realized; to have a memorial you need to be dead.
I will never die. My spirit will not wither away that easily.
Exorcise (her)? as much as you please she will not go but
will retrieve that little journal and write about how
The scars of her past are long behind her and healed.

----------

Something I whipped together at the apparent spur of the moment. I want this as good as Masquarade people, so, chop chop, help me with my commas. I'm making a comeback... at least until I get tired. And Brad, be sure to use very big words in your critique, I might look them up.
---Elizabeth
PS. Happy Birthday To Me...

The things I have highlighted in red are the bits that I got drawn to. I liked them, they made the poem much more enjoyable.
The strike throughs are a bit obvious,
I liked this piece, don't quite know why it is called birthdays... but I get what you were aiming at.
Well done, Lexy x