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Not My Kind of Shoe

by snickerdooly


Standing with my feet nailed into a pair of high heel shoes
The sky shoots slivers of light into my eyes
Ruining the perfect chance I ever had to rip free
But no matter how hard I pull
I can't find away out of them
It doesn't matter how many times I change my face in the mirror
It seems to become less of the real me every morning
So with my aching shoulders and heavy feet I know
I am not me in these high heel shoes.


1st poem for poetry month :)


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Thu Feb 07, 2013 5:39 am
Kale wrote a review...



Hello there snickerdooly,

I bet you thought you'd never get a review on this. Well, I'm here to prove you wrong. *insert mad/diabolical/insane laughter/giggles/cackling/whatever here* For too long have works like yours languished unreviewed, and so my comrades and I of the Order of the Knights of the Green Room are here to bring an end to such an ignomiously neglected state of reviewage.

So, sit back, relax, and enjoy the reviewing!

---

Ruining the perfect chance I ever had to rip free

This line just reads awkwardly. I think you might be missing a "most" in there, otherwise it reads like there was this really long period of perfect chanciness that the narrator never acted upon.

I can't find away out of them

Out of what? The shoes? The narrator's eyes? The narrator's face? It could be any of the three, but the pronoun is so ambiguous, and in a bad way.

Poems rely upon being specific and not-vague, so having such vagueness in this, especially at a crucial turning point in the piece, really weakens your poem.

In any case, overall, you have a fair number of ideas going on in here, and they aren't very well connected at the moment. How do the high heels tie into the eyes which tie into the changing faces? There's no direct connections between any of the three, and so that makes this piece hard to follow and thus much less meaningful.

Clear up the relationship between your images, and this poem will be the stronger for it.





If I seem to wander, if I seem to stray, remember that true stories seldom take the straightest way.
— Patrick Rothfuss, The Name of the Wind