Points:
Time spent:
Canary word: Present
Possible AI signals:
Original Text:
Are you sure you want to delete this comment? This cannot be undone.
Mark this comment as a review? Points will be awarded to the poster.
Your comment was posted, but it wasn’t long enough to count as a review. Reviews need about four complete sentences (at least 250 characters). Try writing another review that explains your thoughts in more detail — the author will appreciate it, and you’ll earn points for it.
125,005 Literary Works • 672,798 Reviews
text version
i hang up photos of my tear-stained skin,
Spoiler
waiting for the blood to dry from crimson to amaranth.
i cut away their memories and all that
remains are bitter reminders of sufferance, fragments
of aching i hold in the palm of my hand.
later, i will put those to rest, too.
through the window, my lawn is a graveyard;
unmarked tombstones lined with torn photographs
of what i used to think of as sentience, but
i’ve been burying the dead since i was made alive.
i cannot remember what died here.
the film is still hanging up to dry, but i have carved it
into mutilation to the point of obscurity,
unrecognizable even to the most familiar eye—
i choose to let the body live so the memory may die.
Oh my gosh. This was one of those poems where a line hits you so hard, but then ANOTHER one does right after it, then ANOTHER ONE.
I think that I connect to this in my own personal way which is probably different than what others feel, but to me, this poem gave me the message of learning to live. Sure, we can be alive, but we can go through life without truly living. This could be caused by so many things, like things we believe, ways, we were raised, organizations or institutions, that we belong to, and people who impact us. This makes me think of things in my life that were once very important to me, or my reason to live. But as I have grown, I have distanced myself from these things and realize that I don't need them to be who I want to be. When you're so caught up in the moment, you feel like this is the only thing that truly gives you life, but eventually you grow up and see that you've been burying these feelings for years, perhaps your entire life.
Then, you can't even remember what you've been hiding for so long. It's this confusion, what is even real and what is not? Have I made myself this way or this who I truly am? What is reality? We get so caught up in the narrative, that we don't even realize what we have been doing. I just want to say, this poem really stood out to me. It is incredibly mature, and I am really blown away by the organization and the language that you use as well. Your vocabulary is fantastic and I love how you craft such beautiful sentences with longer and shorter words that led so well together. I absolutely love the last stanza and how well those last two lines go together, even rhyming.
Overall, this is really fantastic. I get a really strong sense of growth and a general fear of reality. I don't exactly know how to explain that, but it's like this fear of what is real, so you hide it for so long that something else becomes real to you. Anyways, amazing job, and I will definitely be reading more of your poetry soon! Have a great day and keep writing.
Your friend,
Ellie
thank you so much ellie!! honestly, after i wrote this, i was a little astonished myself. i'm glad you could connect to my poem, that%u2019s always my goal ^^
I am SOOO glad you wrote this (check my poem anthology blooming crimson lol, you'd get why i was so excited over that line)!
What a beautifully graphic poem and those colors are on POINT! <3
tehe thank you toast ^^
remind me to review this
this is me reminding you, as a good citizen of yws
Honestly, I don't know where to start the review. This poem hits me. And confuses me. I find that the poem is talking about memories, and how burying the dead seems to be a metaphor of some kind (though I cannot tell what that is, it is still interesting to me). It gives me the felling that you are trying to forget something. Some memory that you have that has scarred you. burying what you used to see as sentient, and the concept of burying the memory not truly making its impact forgotten. the idea that the memory doesn't truly seem to die, and that it just lives on as fragments of its past self, before it gets laid to rest.
-Asriel.
p.s: keep writing! your poems are amazing!
thanks for the review asriel !! and yeah, you interpreted the poem correctly ^^
"all that remains are bitter reminders of sufferance, fragments of aching" OMG I LOVE THIS AVIAN YOU SLAYED
GAHH tyyy chem! ^^
ATE THE HOUSE DOWN DIVA'D MADE ME ABSOLUTELY JAW DROPP
HEHEHEH tysm herb!!! (im really proud of this one ^^)
"CARVED IT INTO MUTILATION" HELLO?