When I was very young
my mother and father gifted me a shirt.
It was a pastel pink with strawberries all over it.
I loved the shirt and they told me that
that was just as well because I would have to wear it everyday.
I asked them why and they said it was because I will
always be their little girl.
I was satisfied with this answer and
from then on, I dutifully wore this shirt and
saw this shirt as proof that
my parents loved me.
Years went by and I was still wearing the shirt.
It had stained and ripped in places and quite frankly,
was too small for me.
But, I still wore it. Because my parents loved me and
I'd do whatever they asked.
Even when the shirt would cut into my skin and
make me bleed all over, especially my arms,
I would still wear the shirt.
Even when it would constrict me and made it
impossible to move,
I would still wear the shirt.
Even when it could barely go over my torso and my
breasts would hang out what was once the front part,
I would still wear the shirt.
One day, I asked my parents to get a new shirt
since it was quite clear that I had long outgrown this one.
They said no.
I was shocked. I did not understand.
I tried to explain to them that the shirt hurt me.
I showed them the scars.
I showed them the holes.
They still said no.
They said that I was still their little girl
and that I was disrespecting them
for ever even thinking of a new shirt.
I felt my anger rise and my tears threaten to fall.
This was after my rebirth, but I still wanted to prove
to myself that I tried all I could to reconcile with my parents,
so I gave them one last chance…
But, they remained steadfast.
I would always be
Their. Little. Girl.
I was determined to get rid of the shirt.
I tried to take it off more times than I can count,
but it was no use.
Despite it being simply a few lines of thread,
it stuck to me in mind and body
like a symbiote
screaming at me that I am still a little girl.
Now, the shirt tightens around me
denying me the privilege to breathe.
I am in constant pain and covered in open wounds
and scars.
Many of the wounds are infected and viscous pus
leaks out of them.
My eyes are sore and swollen from many years of bawling
and they are surrounded by black shadow from insomnia.
My voice is hoarse from screaming and yelling,
but I have not given up hope yet.
At the decks of my heart my fleet of revenge awaits
and the sea of hatred rumbles.
The time will come when I will be free of this shirt
and the stone man and his blob of a wife
that have kept me in this prison for so long
will watch in horror when they realize
that the flood is imminent and the fleet's cannons unrelenting.
If only they let me get a new shirt.
If only they let me get a new shirt.
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140,099 Literary Works • 672,998 Reviews
Hey there redhood!! I'm here to give you a review on this frankly haunting poem :)
First of all, I love this concept!! It's a deep metaphor for what I interpret to be parents who can't see their daughter's change and refuse to acknowledge it. There's also a story being told, of a girl who's growing--and the best part? The poem grows with her!! I can see how the beginning of the poem is so different than the end in style. It's originally simple, narrative--like a small child's thoughts and simple writing. But by the end, when the girl is grown, there's rich metaphor and figurative language. I don't know if that was intentional, but it's great!
However, there were points where the language used was a bit out of place. Some words don't really match the style and voice of the piece, which makes it seem like these words were pulled straight out of a thesaurus rather than flowing with the poem. An example is "symbiote". It's a bit scientific where the rest of the piece is descriptive and narrative. Same with "viscous". Connotation (the "feeling" of a word) is truly important in poetry, and definitely something to think about!
I also think this could be separated into stanzas! That would further the feeling of progression in this girl's life, from the beginning to the end. A new stanza for each change in perspective on the shirt would definitely benefit the piece as a whole!
Overall, though, I truly enjoyed this!!
Keep writing!
<3, daisy
A shirt...WOW. I don't know how a poem about a shirt could be so good. Hi. CATS here to review on behalf of the Aliens. Watch us conquer. Okay, let's dive in.
I love pastel pink and strawberries. Such a nice shirt...I understand why you wore it all the time.
Oh no! The shirt is TOO SMALL. And it ripped?? That is so sad. Such good parents...what happened?
I am glad you complained. I would too.
Stone man and Blob wife? Wow. I love how you described them. They should really get you a new shirt. Like maybe pastel blue with BLUEBERRIES this time! I love your poem. Keep being a POET. You can DO IT. Happy Writing, Red!
Love,
CATS