Feelings

I see you passing by
with another at your side
you take a glimpse of me
through the corner of your eye
you try to pretend you don't see me
but all it does is kills my soul
I'm standing alone still trying to let go
and here you are standing bold
I thought I meant more to you
what we had was indescribable
but your showing me the truth
I guess I was in denial
go ahead
and act as though you do not care
but I know deep inside
you really miss me being there
you don't have to do me this way
by hiding the pain and guilt
just tell me how you really feel
or am I worrying about milk that is already spilled
do you think of me by day
and mourn for me by night
do you smile to hide the pain
because you are acting nonchalant

Hello!

First of all, I want to welcome you to YWS. Next of all, I want to give you a critique. I think I might be considered one of the harsher critics of YWS, but I honestly do want to be as helpful as possible, so if you have any questions, feel free to ask me.

Now, before I get to your poem, I want to share with you a Beatles song which I really love. It's called "For No One" and I adore it because... well, I'll tell you later.

Your day breaks, your mind aches
You find that all her words of kindness linger on
When she no longer needs you

She wakes up, she makes up
She takes her time and doesn't feel she has to hurry
She no longer needs you

And in her eyes you see nothing
No sign of love behind the tears
Cried for no one
A love that should have lasted years

You want her, you need her
And yet you don't believe her when she says her love is dead
You think she needs you

And in her eyes you see nothing
No sign of love behind the tears
Cried for no one
A love that should have lasted years

You stay home, she goes out
She says that long ago she knew someone but now he's gone
She doesn't need him

Your day breaks, your mind aches
There will be times when all the things she said will fill your head
You won't forget her

And in her eyes you see nothing
No sign of love behind the tears
Cried for no one
A love that should have lasted years

Yup! Story of my life. Anyway, the reason why I adore this song is because of the subtlety involved. When Paul sings this, he never explicitly says, "She thought of this about me," or anything of the sort. It's all about her actions. And, coupled with his heartbreak and inability to do anything about it, it's really tragic! He knows it's ended and he wants her back, but he only sees her actions and no sign of love, which torments him. And we can never know her exact feelings--he is the one telling the story and he'll never know her exact feelings, which makes it all the more realistic and tragic for us, the listeners. Couple that with the music, and it's powerful.

With that said, I wish your poem was a bit less obvious concerning the guy that broke up and is with another girl. The narrator really shouldn't know what is going through his head--unless she's psychic--and she shouldn't. Whenever we humans try to think for another person, we usually get it disastrously wrong, which can be a lovely thing!

Check out this poem, if you don't believe me.

Home Burial
by Robert Frost


He saw her from the bottom of the stairs
Before she saw him. She was starting down,
Looking back over her shoulder at some fear.
She took a doubtful step and then undid it
To raise herself and look again. He spoke
Advancing toward her: "What is it you see
From up there always?—for I want to know."
She turned and sank upon her skirts at that,
And her face changed from terrified to dull.
He said to gain time: "What is it you see?"
Mounting until she cowered under him.
"I will find out now—you must tell me, dear."
She, in her place, refused him any help,
With the least stiffening of her neck and silence.
She let him look, sure that he wouldn't see,
Blind creature; and awhile he didn't see.
But at last he murmured, "Oh," and again, "Oh."

"What is it—what?" she said.

"Just that I see."

"You don't," she challenged. "Tell me what it is."
"The wonder is I didn't see at once.
I never noticed it from here before.
I must be wonted to it—that's the reason.
The little graveyard where my people are!
So small the window frames the whole of it.
Not so much larger than a bedroom, is it?
There are three stones of slate and one of marble,
Broad-shouldered little slabs there in the sunlight
On the sidehill. We haven't to mind those.
But I understand: it is not the stones,
But the child's mound——"

"Don't, don't, don't, don't," she cried.

She withdrew, shrinking from beneath his arm
That rested on the banister, and slid downstairs;
And turned on him with such a daunting look,
He said twice over before he knew himself:
"Can't a man speak of his own child he's lost?"
"Not you!—Oh, where's my hat? Oh, I don't need it!
I must get out of here. I must get air.—
I don't know rightly whether any man can."
"Amy! Don't go to someone else this time.
Listen to me. I won't come down the stairs."
He sat and fixed his chin between his fists.
"There's something I should like to ask you, dear."
"You don't know how to ask it."

"Help me, then."

Her fingers moved the latch for all reply.

"My words are nearly always an offense.
I don't know how to speak of anything
So as to please you. But I might be taught,
I should suppose. I can't say I see how.
A man must partly give up being a man
With womenfolk. We could have some arrangement
By which I'd bind myself to keep hands off
Anything special you're a-mind to name.
Though I don't like such things 'twixt those that love.
Two that don't love can't live together without them.
But two that do can't live together with them."
She moved the latch a little. "Don't—don't go.
Don't carry it to someone else this time.
Tell me about it if it's something human.
Let me into your grief. I'm not so much
Unlike other folks as your standing there
Apart would make me out. Give me my chance.
I do think, though, you overdo it a little.
What was it brought you up to think it the thing
To take your mother-loss of a first child
So inconsolably—in the face of love.
You'd think his memory might be satisfied——"

"There you go sneering now!"

"I'm not, I'm not!"
You make me angry. I'll come down to you.
God, what a woman! And it's come to this,
A man can't speak of his own child that's dead."

"You can't because you don't know how to speak.
If you had any feelings, you that dug
With your own hand—how could you?—his little grave;
I saw you from that very window there,
Making the gravel leap and leap in air,
Leap up, like that, like that, and land so lightly
And roll back down the mound beside the hole.
I thought, Who is that man? I didn't know you.
And I crept down the stairs and up the stairs
To look again, and still your spade kept lifting.
Then you came in. I heard your rumbling voice
Out in the kitchen, and I don't know why,
But I went near to see with my own eyes.
You could sit there with the stains on your shoes
Of the fresh earth from your own baby's grave
And talk about your everyday concerns.
You had stood the spade up against the wall
Outside there in the entry, for I saw it."

"I shall laugh the worst laugh I ever laughed.
I'm cursed. God, if I don't believe I'm cursed."

"I can repeat the very words you were saying:
‘Three foggy mornings and one rainy day
Will rot the best birch fence a man can build.'
Think of it, talk like that at such a time!
What had how long it takes a birch to rot
To do with what was in the darkened parlor?
You couldn't care! The nearest friends can go
With anyone to death, comes so far short
They might as well not try to go at all.
No, from the time when one is sick to death,
One is alone, and he dies more alone.
Friends make pretense of following to the grave,
But before one is in it, their minds are turned
And making the best of their way back to life
And living people, and things they understand.
But the world's evil. I won't have grief so
If I can change it. Oh, I won't, I won't!"
"
There, you have said it all and you feel better.
You won't go now. You're crying. Close the door.
The heart's gone out of it: why keep it up?
Amy! There's someone coming down the road!"

"You—oh, you think the talk is all. I must go—
Somewhere out of this house. How can I make you——"

"If—you—do!" She was opening the door wider.
"Where do you mean to go? First tell me that.
I'll follow and bring you back by force. I will!—"

So they think they understand each other, but they really don't. Not at all. And it's all the more heartbreaking because of it.

The point is! Your poem talks about this girl who's basically had her heart ripped out by this other guy and she sees him with another girl and she's in pain watching him. And she's wondering whether he's in pain too. But you have to present it in a way that affects us, and that means you have to make it more tragic. And the only way that you're going to make it more tragic is if you add more conflict. So let her wonder if he really cares. Let her see how happy they are together. Let her get her heart ripped out more. That will make it more juicy. And let's face it--the juicier the poem is, the more interesting it is for us readers.

Anyway, I hoped that helped and if you have any questions, feel free to bug me!

I really don't know how to use this thing, but thankyou very much for the advice. I understand what you mean. Please don't give up on reading my entries yet. I have more I will post!

Hey!

Welcome to YWS

I think you need yo use punctuation marks. Without the use of punctuation the flow doesn't seem write.

But otherwise the poem is really good.

Keep writing!