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godreamNot as in let-me-tell-you-about-my-day off-the-top-of-my-head writing, more as in actual creative writing that a semblance of thought goes into, and possibly, as in this case, actual revision. It's too bad, because it's probably good for me as an outlet and as a way to improve, not to mention that it's something I enjoy. I'll bet you can guess exactly what this is leading up to. :)
Disclaimer: no, you don't need to worry about me, this mostly isn't autobiographical except in the sense that any poetry that isn't 100% crap (and this one is only 95 tops, I hope :P) has something of the self in it, right?
Without further ado:
Scabs & Bruises & Letting Go (A Tale Of Marred Flesh)
Sanity confronts sentiment by a bridge,
door-swinging red-alert cowboy meltdown.
watch me, I swear I'm ready to fall.
Milestones fly past, insignificant
internal speed limits marked and mocked,
dashed traffic lines oscillate and blur yellow.
The play of fingers makes tiny scars
pucker up and darken, inviting kisses;
bloody cell dramas welling to my surface.
Let me balance my mistakes,
a small-time sinner simmering.
Prying self from the comfortable orwellian freedom of your arms.
Any moment I'll let go.
I always thought I needed you like oxygen...
blue to brown: slow dance?
Memories stuck under desks and through heat vents;
you were a casual vandal writing your name inside
and every word begged for another to follow.
Twelve steps, cold turkey, scabs and patches marring arms.
Let's see how long I can hold my breath, darling.
I'm letting go now.
Opinions, feedback, and critique are (as always) appreciated and welcomed with open arms and general jumping up and down in glee. Thanks in advance. :)
There's one thing here which isn't mine -- rather, I asked for suggestions at the somewhat unlikely poetry forum where I first posted it, recieved this, and used it. Bonus points for figuring out what it is -- I think it's pretty atypical of my writing, though I guess I've done something like it once or twice before. *shrugs*
For the morbidly curious, the first draft can be found here -- I got lots of flak in feedback for the ineffectiveness of the repeated stanzas particularly and more or less praise for the last big stanza, so that shaped a lot of my revisions.
If you're wondering where this whole cutting fascination is coming from... well, said unlikely forum was busy sticking their noses up at angst in general and particularly anything with reference to that, which of course meant that I had to go write and post some, out of that immature contradiction instinct. :D
Disclaimer: no, you don't need to worry about me, this mostly isn't autobiographical except in the sense that any poetry that isn't 100% crap (and this one is only 95 tops, I hope :P) has something of the self in it, right?
Without further ado:
Scabs & Bruises & Letting Go (A Tale Of Marred Flesh)
Sanity confronts sentiment by a bridge,
door-swinging red-alert cowboy meltdown.
watch me, I swear I'm ready to fall.
Milestones fly past, insignificant
internal speed limits marked and mocked,
dashed traffic lines oscillate and blur yellow.
The play of fingers makes tiny scars
pucker up and darken, inviting kisses;
bloody cell dramas welling to my surface.
Let me balance my mistakes,
a small-time sinner simmering.
Prying self from the comfortable orwellian freedom of your arms.
Any moment I'll let go.
I always thought I needed you like oxygen...
blue to brown: slow dance?
Memories stuck under desks and through heat vents;
you were a casual vandal writing your name inside
and every word begged for another to follow.
Twelve steps, cold turkey, scabs and patches marring arms.
Let's see how long I can hold my breath, darling.
I'm letting go now.
Opinions, feedback, and critique are (as always) appreciated and welcomed with open arms and general jumping up and down in glee. Thanks in advance. :)
There's one thing here which isn't mine -- rather, I asked for suggestions at the somewhat unlikely poetry forum where I first posted it, recieved this, and used it. Bonus points for figuring out what it is -- I think it's pretty atypical of my writing, though I guess I've done something like it once or twice before. *shrugs*
For the morbidly curious, the first draft can be found here -- I got lots of flak in feedback for the ineffectiveness of the repeated stanzas particularly and more or less praise for the last big stanza, so that shaped a lot of my revisions.
If you're wondering where this whole cutting fascination is coming from... well, said unlikely forum was busy sticking their noses up at angst in general and particularly anything with reference to that, which of course meant that I had to go write and post some, out of that immature contradiction instinct. :D
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no subject
Date: 2004-08-21 05:56 pm (UTC)Nope and nope, although (as maybe you looked at the draft and know) both *are* lines that came in when I revised. And I'm absurdly proud of door-swinging et cetera -- don't know why, I just like it. Whereas prying I am less fond of, it doesn't say enough to justify being so long and awkward, but I can't think of a better way to put it. :P
I think it might be against the unwritten poetry rules to explain, but here's where my thought processes were going with that line, which you kinda need the first half of for the second half. "Blue to brown" is eyes, all that mushy gooshy unspoken communication stuff, and "slow dance?" is the question, suggestion, whatever, being (un)spoken. *shrugs* It made sense in my head.
no subject
Date: 2004-08-21 06:23 pm (UTC)Coming after "I always thought I needed you like oxygen..." I took "blue to brown" to mean the color of blood cells. :P
By process of elimination, there aren't many more lines to guess. I think these are left:
(a) Milestones fly past, insignificant
(b) internal speed limits marked and mocked,
(c) dashed traffic lines oscillate and blur yellow.
(d) The play of fingers makes tiny scars
(e) None of the above
And I'm going to guess (c).
no subject
Date: 2004-08-21 07:08 pm (UTC)Blood cells -- I was gonna say "but that's not the color of blood cells" but with enough poetic license it really could be. Wow, neat! Er, I mean, I knew that all along, really. :P
Nope. It's either sneakier or more obvious than that; I'm not sure which.