I have been followed for many years. I saw you for the first time, outside of the window of my mother's house. It was past my bedtime and I noticed you when I put away my flashlight and closed the book I had been reading, finally aware of the silence in the room. You stood there, with piercing black eyes that were visible from across the street. I drew a cross on a piece of paper, folded it into the shape of a shield, and muttered a prayer under my breath. God, please use your wonderful mercy to take my broken self and craft it into something that is whole.
I caught many glimpses of you that summer- your boisterous laugh, coming from downstairs when I tried to sleep, couch cushions that smelled like your perfume, the sound of your invisible fists pounding on the bathroom door, late in the evening- and the fear made me pray harder and more frequently than I ever had before. Father, bless me with the strength to forgive those who have hurt me and purify my heart, so that I may accept what I cannot change.
That year, I became overly aware of the changes that were taking place in my life, the circumstances and situations that proved to me that I was no longer a child. I was taunted by your nails scraping on my bedroom wall. Reading under the covers no longer blocked out the fear in my mind that you were standing somewhere nearby, preparing to do something that would frighten me and make me feel unsafe.
God, if you are real- I could not finish. Now, you followed me everywhere. Standing in every crowd, eating every meal, sleeping in my bed. You laughed so loudly that I could no longer hear the jokes that others made. I dreaded going anywhere, seeing anyone, or doing anything, because I knew you would follow me. You tempted me, even begged me, to listen, to heed your whispers and worries. I have always hated what could not be changed.
Perhaps I realized, that to me, God was a piece of paper that protected me when I slept, but your voice was something I could hear, see, and feel every day. I will never escape you, but I have learned to accept my attentiveness to your presence around me. I want to love who I am. I want to be who my mind is wired to be. I only want to change what I have hidden.
Now I need you because you are mine and my eyes have been opened to the reality of loneliness, life, and death, in this world.
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139,546 Literary Works • 672,605 Reviews
From where i stand, which is not very high on the pedestal, this would be among the many dreams of a gothic fanatic. This is like an illusion, so detailed yet so ambiguous. With the possibility of the story taking any turn yet not refraining the reader from having their own predictions. In a sentence, this piece is like a boiled egg that could be molded into almost anything, yet inhibiting the classic tastefulness.
AbsCon
Oy, the prose of this poem lends scraped quality to the inner dialogue: No frills. At the same time, the tangibility of the detail tilts the prose to poetry; and that's a rather neat effect of your choice, stylistically.
What was the impression and emotion you wanted the reader to step away with?
What is the image you wanted to leave the reader with?
What is the question you wanted to pose?
Overall, when a piece is this short, and when it's poetry, those are the key questions: They sharpen the intentionality of each word.
I found myself hovering over the image of I have been followed..., You followed me everywhere[/I,] and the statement [I]God was a piece of paper.
But I wasn't sure how the final statement linked to a) who God is or b) who the speaker is. It's a poem rife with the idea of identity. But is the subject God, or the writer/speaker? They seemed superimposed on each other.
In the end, oy, I really wanted to have the following echoed or tied up in the closing. Who followed whom? Do the writer/speaker need ...themselves, or God? Do they welcome being followed, find out God also is following them, flip the tables and follow in return?
If they can 'change what [they have] ...hidden', will they be able to face the follower, or God?
I am curious, and I enjoyed the vivid, tangible language -- of God 'being a piece of paper', of the nails on the wall, etc. Some of my questions may be digging too deep. But I think tying your opening to your closing is something you could do stitch this piece into a whole, where the reader steps in on one stair and lands on one two or three steps down solidly.
Cheers,
IMP