I'm my worst regret.

Calling all cowards, I'm the king of you all.
Desperation and a taste for just 'it' all too much to handle.
Watch your mouth or it might run off, even the cat won't get it.
Let slip your passions and get a dirty look,
the love of your life isn't much for nuances.

Perfection's overrated, when you see it in everyone
that halo just a spot on your eye.
Don't try too hard, I'm sure they can tell.
Their friends make their motions,
calculated to never disappoint, just placate.

When you don't like yourself its easy to lay blame,
every aspect of your being an accomplice.
You don't take compliments because what good is there in you?
Life hits harder when you finally look at the big picture.
All your troubles feel like nothing.

Why hold on to something no one else does?
If you forget it will it happen again?
Your a good kid, but your too hard on yourself.
Put down the self-pity and pick up some confidence.
Calling all cowards, I give up my throne.

I'll take my chances with mistakes I haven't made.

Hi! I'm Forest and I will review your work today!

I didn't see anything to correct, which made me mad! (No offense!) I really liked this poem, especially the last line.

Watch your mouth or it might run off, even the cat wont get it.

I love this it made me think about what I have said. You did great on this poem, and it was amazing! The title really caught my eye! Great job!

Errrric,

Seriously. You go too long without sharing much of your writing. Good to see you still have your flair. Little things here need to be addressed, which I will inadvertently pick out:

Watch your mouth or it might run off, even the cat wont get it.

won't

Perfections overrated, when you see it in everyone

Perfection's [want perfection is; contracted. ]

that halo just a spot on your eye.

halo's

When you dont like yourself its easy to lay blame,

don't


---

(It's far too late and my eyes are far. too. tired.) Anyway, I've - once again - fallen in love with your style and it's originality, as it carries on that unstoppable flow and I can read it to enjoy without worrying about criticism and such forth (some may differ. ). Where do you find all of this inspiration, anyway?

Good poem to think on, for sure. It leaves an impression.



June

I really enjoyed this! The feel of the poem was very up-front and personal. The structure was a little lacking, but the lines were still cleverly crafted- the repeated "calling all cowards" part, for example.

Nitpicky points:
-go through and check apostrophes. They're very lacking.
-"Calling all cowards, I'm the king of them all." I'm the king of you all would make more sense, as the speaker is addressing the cowards in this line.
-"every aspect of your being an accomplice" this doesn't make a whole lot of sense. is an accomplice, perhaps?

There really isn't a lot to critisize, it's a very good piece. Just watch the grammar.

Hi Eraqio,

I apologize for the previous reviews; it's a sad day when nobody can find anything wrong with a poem and those who do, satisfy themselves with correcting grammar, third-grade style.

Eraqio, this is boring. Very tiresome for the reader to choke his way through, word after word, dragging itself on its hindlegs with a bloodtrail following suit. The message seems to start and stop in bursts, sometimes summoning forth a weak hand of imagery before immediately tucking it back under its cloak and going with the safer, holier-than-though speech that's such an easy trap to fall into.

Eraqio wrote:Calling all cowards, I'm the king of you all.
Desperation and a taste for just 'it' all too much to handle.
Watch your mouth or it might run off, even the cat won't get it.
Let slip your passions and get a dirty look,
the love of your life isn't much for nuances.

It had potential in the first line and completely died from there on out. The second line, please read it to yourself; hopefully you will visibly cringe. Inject some description into this thing, comparisons, the fleeting feet of a wolfhound on a shark scent trail after some unknown quantity - the liars, the cheats, the sons of a faceless stone statue, devoid of anything but the human form, into which they carve with their nails the letters "BABYLON". I don't know. I'm going off on a tangent. What I do know is that as it stands, this stanza and every stanza after it has the same problem that repeats itself and doesn't even bother to wear a different mask each time. So stark that it actually makes the reviewing job easy.

The ending - and by that I mean the very last two lines - was decent and helped to not totally dissolve this poem in the eyes of the reader as a piece flagrant with the curses of a priest upon his bully pulpit and a tepid sermon of a vague brimstone and fire. The third-from-last-line is exactly what I mean by the whole vague brimstone thing. The reader doesn't want to take direct orders about how to cure his life. If he wanted that, he would pay a hundred dollars a session with a certified psychiatrist. The reader wants to feel cathartic while examining his own life with a little prompting from you, the poet, and you need to respect that. Don't be so blunt; anyone would rather be slain by a sharpened knife than a blunt mallet, it makes things go quicker.

This could work as a rap. Maybe. Right now it's drowning in it's own preachy tone and unfinished goals.

Hope that helped,
Galerius

Wow...very awesome. The grammar is lacking in parts, but others have already gone into individual mistakes, so I'm sure you know that. It's almost lyrical and very emotional. Sort of metaphorical. I don't know a lot about poetry, but it seems very surrealistic. Good work, and keep it up.