Nostalgia of Love Left (or The Right to Sadness)
I don’t have the right to write about sadness,
not any more.
How can I sit and make words that
turn starvation and suffering into sense in my head
when my head is so shallow now,
so full of hair straighteners and
nail polish. I feel like the wrong end of a
shadow person, the wholesome girl that
turned into sickness, back from the dead.
I wonder if I’m lying to myself, sometimes,
I don’t think I was ever all that wholesome.
I wove lies into myself every day since I lost her;
it makes me crazy that she still sits in my
poetry when I know I am not in hers. But
I was burning red on my skin 11 years old,
scars gone to nothing now,
the remembrance of her and her flesh-breaking like
an echo in my head right through to last year,
though I hardly remember now
because remembrance takes calories.
I breathe easier these days, flesh obscuring my
hip bones, though my forearms still look like
those of a person unwell.
I have pulled myself out of the spinning into
nothingness, and I have done it alone because
to save dead weight is meaningless.
I am interminably putting off a diet,
(limitless days are like Sundays, like I haven’t had for years)
because that would mean
insanity, even though I checked in today at
123.6.
I'd really like some feedback on this... I feel like something's missing from it, I can't figure it out. I keep reading it like it'll make more sense but it doesn't -_- I wasn't sure if this was the right catagory either, I put it here because it's 1st person. This is a kind of personal poem >.> I was kind of not sure whether to put it up at all.
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Thanks for your honest responses =] I actually agree with what you said. It was a bit of a struggle getting it out this time.
I don't know if I'll try and edit it or just scrap it! It's still a sort of representation of how I felt, although it's said in quite a clumsy way.
I hope my next one will be better.
I'm assuming you lost weight in recent months or years and the "her" you are referring to is the old you. Think that message comes across when you're dpne reading it.
I don't like how you're looking down on the new you when i sincerely think it's in your best interest to be proud. After all, if I'm right, you're healthier now.
This poem is like mourning for a you that you miss because you felt there was more magic in someone that didn't so obviously belong in this modern day world. Sounds like you're afraid of conforming here and if that is true, I would have appreciated a more honest poem about that feeling.
But you know I love your work, this one just didn't do it for me. But I have my obvious reasons, I've got a great metabolism, I'm 6'4" and 200lbs.
But what I feel your poem is beating around is this bush. Change into someone different. Then again you could remember, that maybe we never really change, we just grow.
This was an interesting piece. The way you talked about the girl (am I right in thinking she's a recovering anerexic?) liked she almost missed those days was different. The line breaks seemed off though, like when you put:
How can I sit and make words that
turn starvation and suffering into sense in my head
when my head is so shallow now,
so full of hair straighteners and
nail polish. I feel like the wrong end of a
shadow person, the wholesome girl that
turned into sickness, back from the dead.
It would look better as:
How can I sit
And make words that turn starvation and suffering
Into sense in my head,
When my head is so shallow now,
So full of hair straighteners and nail polish. (nail polish? In her hair?)
I feel like the wrong end of a shadow person,
The wholesome girl that turned into sickness,
Back from the dead.
The one verse I didn't get was the third one, it was out of place with the others (or more acurrately, the second half of it was out of place.)