No Title [conveient, eh?]

This poem has no title, and I wrote it a while back because of what happened to a friend of mine.


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Sitting there depressed, thoughts of the past, you’re obsessed.
Ancient rage has been repressed, those memories of incest,
they drain you.

Their lies and deception cast a gloomy reflection.
Hate and rejection gave you an altered perception,
nothing is true…
no, not to you.

You bask in your sorrow as you wait for tomorrow.
Your mind has become sallow and your heart dark and hallow,
you can’t fight the pain...
those tears, you can’t retain

Bitter would be sweeter if they’d shown some appreciation.
But all that they’d ever given was emotional desolation,
your soul they had slain.
They left your mind stained.

Title it. Name your baby.

In some places, I really liked the rhyme thing you had going - it was rather like performance poetry, and I think I'd like it better read out loud. In other places, though, the rhyme was too forced to be enjoyable.

This also focuses on a lot of really abstract emotions. A reader needs something a little more concrete, a little less to take for granted.

Colleen