dear ------,
how are you? how do
you do? could i please enquire as to
the weather?
no. how do you do? how is
the weather? how do i
do this
again?
is your heart still on standby? do you still dream
of the wind cupping your shoulder like an assassin,
like a lover? do you dream of spearmint cutting
through your throat? your pulse tangling itself
in the wiring of your synapses? question marks hazarding a guess
as to the reality of the slits in your expression's rock-iron rubble?
do you still dream it all? dream, when moored to pitch
cauldron-black, floating on a ship made of nothingness
where vacuum swells in the sails?
did i tell you, tell you how to listen?
listen to those beats in the dark, the palpitating rush
of the darkness and its cloak and its hound whistling
in your ears. listen. the air is brine and your lungs
heavy with their weight of sea salt. we live in a world
where desalination is restricted to huge trays of heartache--huge,
and not lumbering, because the truth is that you
have been--recently--graceless, cruel;
your eyes: heavy, your heart flapping like the coattails
on somebody else's shoulders. can you
do yourself a favour and listen? listen to the taste
of sweat-speckled heartache resting its cheek against yours--
please. please. search in the dark, stumble, trip: repeat. search
for the remote, press play, press pause, fast forward the ache, but
do not put your heart on standby.
with love.
P.S:
i do not know
how to phrase this, but, of late, you see, i--
my lungs feel like a warehouse, all broken beams
and wide windows and sun splitting dust particles
into motes and withdrawal notes. my lungs
are wide and empty and my head is a sarcophagus, yet i
feel like there is something within me, clawing, nesting, wanting
to escape the jitters of metallic platforms shaking, quaking,
and wires jambling jutting into the square of my jaw, the cleft
of my cheek, the slight impression of a dimple carved
like an actuary's deep-dotted goodbye. what does this
mean? is this what it feels like to be
matryoshkya? what is
real, anymore? someone stole my coat yesterday; my heart is
flapping. how can i show my face
to the world
when i'm like
this?
do you still have that remote?
Points:
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Canary word: Present
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125,020 Literary Works • 672,861 Reviews
Rerrreee! WWombat here! Diz a good poem and u no it, fam.
First of all, I am well impressed with your use of dat slash ting on da lines. It interrupts thingz! Things that dreams r made ov! Anyway, da stanzaz are long, like a poo poo, but soft like a poo poo and squidgy like a kitten on a bike. I like dis stuff, blad!
I do not like the itallics, fam. Cut dat out.
Still good poem, dough! Keep it for real, fam!
Hey Cynder here.
First off, I love the emotion I can sense coming from the poem which is fantastic. Job well done.
I do, however, have a few points of criticism. I love the way you refer to other objects in an almost third person POV. That's why, as soon as I saw the words "I" and "we," I was a tad disappointed. I just love the way you referred to everything before as if it wasn't a part of you, so you didn't need to label it with "I" and "we."
Because truthfully, we already know as the readers. When you get below the P.S. section it turns into "I" and we as the readers know who you are talking about. Don't take away from the mystery and suspense of it by putting the pronouns in there before that point.
Of course, that is totally my opinion, but I write poems like this too, and showing rather than telling makes a poem go from amateur to masterful with barely any adjustments. Your work is so beautiful, and if you decided to edit it and show instead of tell, I can tell you it is worth it.
I hope I inspired you, and I certainly hope you keep writing. Good work.
~Cynder out.
Hello, Godly here for a review and happy review day!
I love this so much! The way you describe the heart wrenching idea of siting on the breaking point of love is beautifully chilling and creates the perfect atmosphere in the poem. It's amazing! Your descriptions and metaphors make the whole thing easy to imagine and makes me, as the reader, feel strongly toward the narrator in it. I really like how you open it with the crossed out lines to show the idea of wanting to say something and what you actually say. Like the idea of typing a large paragraph of your feelings for someone but the anxiety grabs at you and takes control of you to delete it in fear of the worst. The simple start makes the explosion of feelings all the more noticeable and refines the poem to great writing that shows talent in expressing attitudes via metaphors and hidden meanings. I love the ending as well how you say do you still have that remote. This helps to show how the narrator is curious to the fact on wether the other has the power to control their emotions or are they void of a remote and they can't get off of a particular attitude/are constantly changing their mind and they can't stop it.
Overall this is a meaningful and amazing piece and you clearly are a very talented writer.
Keep writing and all the best,
Godly