whee poetry
Mar. 28th, 2004 05:27 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
godreamI'm actually rather fond of this one. Really really looking for constructive feedback, if anyone's got some to offer. :)
fair counsel
"I hate her,"
my stepsister said. Using a sing-song tone
as if addressing a pet, or someone else's child --
"You've got a lot on your plate, dear, a lot on your mind."
We laugh. We are clever and angry and resentful of authority.
Later, though, coming off another crying jag,
I think maybe I want someone to listen and actually hear,
someone without an agenda or a connection to me,
someone to reassure me with therapist cliches
and tell me I am fine.
I tell them I have to study for a test tomorrow,
leave them to laugh in the cafeteria.
Self-conscious, I walk downstairs to her office, knock, and enter.
I chew gum nervously as I try to explain,
try to listen when she tells me not to worry.
Before I leave she encourages me to relax in her sofa.
"Take a breath," she says, "from deep
in your lungs. Girls today worry too much
about their weight to really breathe."
We make another appointment, and after that another,
but then one day I stay home sick
and somehow never end up going back to her office again.
Weeks afterwards, I admit to my parents my frequent visits.
"You know you can always talk to us,"
they say. I don't ask why they made my sister go.
I can't tell them anything
about why not.
---
I considered spacing this differently -- see here if you're morbidly curious, though really a whole bunch of line breaks and one minor wording change is all that's different, and I think I took out the wording thing ten minutes ago.
So yeah, tell me what you think, tell me where specifically to improve if you're feeling really really nice -- I'm considering this one for this issue's stew submission as well as the school lit magazine, so beat it up, please. :) Suggestions for a less lame title are also welcome.
fair counsel
"I hate her,"
my stepsister said. Using a sing-song tone
as if addressing a pet, or someone else's child --
"You've got a lot on your plate, dear, a lot on your mind."
We laugh. We are clever and angry and resentful of authority.
Later, though, coming off another crying jag,
I think maybe I want someone to listen and actually hear,
someone without an agenda or a connection to me,
someone to reassure me with therapist cliches
and tell me I am fine.
I tell them I have to study for a test tomorrow,
leave them to laugh in the cafeteria.
Self-conscious, I walk downstairs to her office, knock, and enter.
I chew gum nervously as I try to explain,
try to listen when she tells me not to worry.
Before I leave she encourages me to relax in her sofa.
"Take a breath," she says, "from deep
in your lungs. Girls today worry too much
about their weight to really breathe."
We make another appointment, and after that another,
but then one day I stay home sick
and somehow never end up going back to her office again.
Weeks afterwards, I admit to my parents my frequent visits.
"You know you can always talk to us,"
they say. I don't ask why they made my sister go.
I can't tell them anything
about why not.
---
I considered spacing this differently -- see here if you're morbidly curious, though really a whole bunch of line breaks and one minor wording change is all that's different, and I think I took out the wording thing ten minutes ago.
So yeah, tell me what you think, tell me where specifically to improve if you're feeling really really nice -- I'm considering this one for this issue's stew submission as well as the school lit magazine, so beat it up, please. :) Suggestions for a less lame title are also welcome.
