Race

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He likes me, he likes her.

Why can't he choose? What does he not see in me?

Am I too bright, am I too young, am I too short?

Why is she getting so close to finish line?

Why am I running out breath?

Why is everything getting so dizzy?

Life is so full of questions, it makes me want to scream!

Oh, no she crossed the finish line!

Water fills up into my eyes.

But look what is he doing, he is walking towards me?

My heart thumps, thumps and thumps.

I can feel the pattern going over and over again.

He takes my hand and asks me to be his friend

I do a shy grin and realize that I crossed the finished line!
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Gender Female
Points 1075
Reviews 344
Hello!

Okay, so I've seen you around before. But have you posted this before? I seem to remember something about a race. Well onto the poem!

Alright, I'm going to be Frank. Hehe, even though I'm Eimear. Firstly, your sentence structure is very basic. To reach out to the reader you need to show that your prepared to consider and play around with the punctuation. The flow is very stilted, as well.

This sentence, for example, just doesn't give enough. I'm left feeling like the message has been told rather than shown, so there's no room for thought or debate.
He likes me, he likes her.


Also, this poem is absolutely plagued with questions. What to questions leave the reader with? Nothing. I realise that not everything has an answer but you start asking them almost immediately. I don't know why the speaker asks them, because I've only just started reading.

Your imagery and poetic devices leave a lot to be desired, as well.

Water fills up into my eyes.


Could you use a better metaphor, here?

I felt that the theme, in most places, was clear enough. I would just develop and consider some of the points I raised to develop this piece.

In regards to the photo, (although it's lovely) I can't see how it adds to the piece. If anything, It confused me, and not in a good way.

Luck,

Eimear
We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars.

Oscar Wilde.



What praise is more valuable than the praise of an intelligent servant?
— Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice