I think I’ve given a part of myself away today.
I think I’ve sold my (what-ever) soul.
I think that I am very sensitive right now.
You know this.
My mind is open to you.
I didn’t understand why I pushed her away today until the quiet set in.
Until I felt the pull.
That I’ve given myself (such a small part of myself, but a part) to someone. To ‘the public’.
Something they will and can dissect and dismiss and (sometimes, maybe) delight in.
So I know why I pulled away.
Because I feel like I am no longer mine to give. I AM no longer. I am a possession on the wall to be bought.
This is my confession to you.
That through all my love for this, I am repulsed.
That pieces of me are on display, are up for sale.
That they will be auctioned and bartered and sold like
Trinkets at a garage sale.
I pushed her away because I can feel myself on those walls,
Staring down on an empty space (sometimes an empty space, usually an empty space, but filled with that certainty that it will be filled).
And I feel—I felt in that moment that I was another flat painting on the wall to be admired
(or whatever)
That I’m scared of being something besides myself,
Scared of belonging to or for something so much.
That it breaks.
Um...Lordy. Yea, um, all my own critiques were taken by Writersdomain. Just wording things, but...sometimes i don't think i should read poetry by my friends. It's both a beautiful lightning insight, and a sledgehammer to the head. I don't know whether to say I love you, or I'm sorry.
5th for structure, but this was good.
Here's some crit
I think I’ve given a part of myself away today.
I think I’ve sold my (what-ever) soul.
I think that I am very sensitive right now.
You know this.
My mind is open to you.
I didn’t understand why I pushed her away today until the quiet set in.
Until I felt the pull.
That I’ve given myself (such a small part of myself, but a part) to someone. To ‘the public’.
Something they will and can dissect and dismiss and (sometimes, maybe) delight in.
So I know why I pulled away.
Because I feel like I am no longer mine to give. I AM no longer. I am a possession on the wall to be bought.
This is my confession to you.
That through all my love for this, I am repulsed.
That pieces of me are on display, are up for sale.
That they will be auctioned and bartered and sold like
Trinkets at a garage sale
I pushed her away because I can feel myself on those walls,
Staring down on an empty space (sometimes an empty space, usually an empty space, but filled with that certainty that it will be filled).
And I feel—I felt in that moment that I was another flat painting on the wall to be admired
(or whatever)
That I’m scared of being something besides myself,
Scared of belonging to or for something so much.
That it breaks.
I 4th that weird/odd structure...though very enjoying...cause you have to read it really slowly or more than once to get what you are really saying.
We've got a third vote for the odd structure, but I've seen odder. Besides, it was a good read.
The structure was a little weird... but anyway, I liked the way you wrote it. The parentheses really added to it all. It confused me a bit until I reminded myself of the title. Nice job.
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