It's interesting how carelessly people say things.
Like being punched in the arm by your twenty year old cousin,
That didn't hurt did it?
And you're only seven and you smile up at him,
Into those dark eyes that don't really see you,
Because it's cool,
You're cool,
It wasn't that bad anyway,
That isn't a bruise blooming there, it's only some dirt.
I think it's interesting how people think that if their
Voices are dull the words are dull too.
But syllables are wild things,
And letters never bothered to learn the language of tone.
Those pretty angels will slice you up into pieces as impersonally
As a butcher dresses a pig,
So it's interesting isn't it?
That just because you don't know my emotions, means I don't have emotions.
And what are the odds that I was raped?
What are the odds that I don't have a mother?
What are the odds,
That any of us even existed before we shook hands?
And it's interesting,
That you expect me to laugh now because if it's funny to you
It's funny to me, right?
I mean, what are the odds that your little harmless joke
Is reminding me of the most painful and vivid experience of my life?
But never mind.
This isn't a bruise,
It's only some dirt. Once I find some water I'll scoop it shining
Like tears in my hand and wash the black and blue away.
And I'm clean.
Hello, InTheTrees. I like your story here, but that is what it is. A story. I don't see the poetry...I think you should at least try to format it. Here is my suggestion:
It's interesting how carelessly people say things.
Like being punched in the arm by your twenty year old cousin,
That didn't hurt did it?
And you're only seven and you smile up at him,
Into those dark eyes that don't really see you,
Because it's cool,
You're cool,
It wasn't that bad anyway,
That isn't a bruise blooming there,
it's only some dirt.
I think it's interesting how people think that if their
Voices are dull the words are dull too.
But syllables are wild things,
And letters never bothered to learn the language of tone.
Those pretty angels will slice you up into pieces as impersonally
As a butcher dresses a pig,
So it's interesting isn't it?
That just because you don't know my emotions,
means I don't have emotions.
And what are the odds that I was raped?
What are the odds that I don't have a mother?
What are the odds,
That any of us even existed before we shook hands?
And it's interesting,
That you expect me to laugh now because if it's funny to you
It's funny to me, right?
I mean,
what are the odds that your little harmless joke
Is reminding me of the most painful and vivid experience of my life?
But never mind.
This isn't a bruise,
It's only some dirt.
Once I find some water I'll scoop it shining
Like tears in my hand and wash the black and blue away.
And I'm clean.
-------
Thats just a suggestion. I think you have to much story, and not enough emotion. I do think that you have a great idea, but you need to take it a step up. Maybe think about a bit more rhyming...
You have a good start! Remember to always, always keep writing!
~Rainn