literature

Sire.

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Literature Text

What if
I told you
I miss the days
you’d tell me
love isn’t scary –
that each hand
is made for another,
fingers interlocked,
fitting palms.

I remember
being a child,
you, dancing with me
around the kitchen,
moving us both –
I balanced on your feet.

Now I count phone calls
like I used to loose teeth –
nickels and dimes,
now you short-change
time.

You
start off by
greeting me
in tangents;
do you not know
what breathing is,
how one
pauses
to inhale,
exhale.
You don’t fucking stop.

You are but a child,
you say
as if
eighteen were three
or four,
as if eighteen
excused your behavior
at sixty.

      Respect is not given,
      but earned -
      I wash my hands
      of the touch
      of idle liars,
      I will not cry
      for you
      anymore.

Irony,
I am crying –
irony,
I, too, am a liar.

      Love is complicated,
you claim
as if you knew how to define
even half
of the theory –
tell me
that if I had someone,
I might understand.

You don't understand
that if
you would
take the time
to listen –
maybe
it wouldn’t be this way,
a car
trying to cut off a train
already leaving the station.

I tell you,
I’m the type of person
that’d balance time;
an hourglass
ever on its side.

You tell me,
that you can speak
in metaphor, too,
tell me
that age
creates cracks
in glass -

we're the sand
that's slipping -
you find ways
to blame
me.

What if I told you,
that when I think of love,
I think of lies.

I remember middle school,
boys asking me to dance,
instead
taking me to their friends -
I would drown
in a gang of laughter,
      Whales that beach
      the shore
      are eyesores,

they said
my name wasn’t “Dufrat”,
I was “Too-fat”,
a joke.

You told me
each September
that people change,
like the seasons –
I was in summer,
the rest still in fall.

You told me
fathers
loved their daughters,
you’d be there
throughout winter.
Instead,
that’s what you became.

What if I told you
that when I think
of love,
I think of leaving.

You told me
I was worth the light
each star breathes,
then left me in the dark.

Memories provide suffocation,
I am chained
in a prison
of my own doubt,
when I think of love
I don’t know what
to believe in.

What if I told you
that when I try
to draw conclusions
and finalize
a definition,
the only thing I'm sure is
I can no longer
even consider
you,

daddy
father
Frank.
Prompt was to write a piece between two individuals - a "you" and an "I".
....
Feel free to skip this bit.
Somehow, this ended up being a venting piece that I sat and worked with for three weeks. For the first week, I could barely touch it. It was so incredibly personal I couldn't pick out the flaws - it felt like picking out pieces of myself. While writing it, I just tried to make silent connections to different aspects of my insecurities.
I tried, in a way, to reach out to whomever would read this, or whomever heard me work with it out loud, explain how scared I am of the prospect of love, about how I'm afraid of being left, and how, while I try to ignore the thought, a part of me misses my father despite it all.
I wrote it in hopes it'd, I guess, help with the .. "healing process"? if you want to call it that.
(Side note: If you end up reading through this whole thing, kudos. I apologize for my ranting, always felt safe to explain myself on this site, hope none of you mind.)
Poetry's always helped me process things. Making a darker aspect of myself into something lovely, I suppose? It's awful to feel afraid of things that are supposed to be wonderful.
For the sake of my poetry, I am thankful for everything life throws at me.

...
I've lost count how many times I've worked this piece. I generally can bump out a piece within a day, then have it workshopped and fairly clean within another or two. I have worked with this one for maybe three or four weeks.

Anyway. I feel this piece is finally ready to be shared.
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Comments2
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x-ForgetMeNot-x's avatar
:star::star::star::star: Overall
:star::star::star::star::star: Vision
:star::star::star::star::star-empty: Originality
:star::star::star::star::star-half: Technique
:star::star::star::star::star-empty: Impact

*I haven't done many critiques before, I apologise if I'm not very good at it*

I usually don't like poems with very few words in each line but it fits really well in this one. I also find that long poems generally "go on" a bit and often repeat things, but this one doesn't, which I like.

The metaphors are also good and convey a lot of meaning; such as "...balance time; an hourglass ever on its side" and "age creates cracks in glass". This poem and the metaphors are effective while still being quite simple and easy to understand, which I really like.

To be honest I can't really think of any improvements other than putting a bit more emotion into it; it comes across as quite rational and final, although that may be the intention for all I know; I just have a personal preference for poems that sound more raw and emotional.

Overall, I really like this poem and I think it is very well-written and conveys its meaning really effectively.