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    poetry


    dots Submission Name: For Nine Months Nowdots
    --------------------------------------------------------





    Author: Jazzy
    ASL Info:    20/f/USA
    Elite Ratio:    3.9 - 90/220/226
    Words: 313
    Class/Type: Poetry/Misc
    Total Views: 373
    Average Vote:    No vote yet.
    Bytes: 2000



    Description:
       I need to stop watching forensic files.


    Make the font bigger!! Double Spacing Back to recent posts.

    dotsFor Nine Months Nowdots
    -------------------------------------------


    My battlefield is your playground where
    You taunt me with disgusting delight.
    You haunt me with little tastes of what
    Could have been
    What should have been.

    And yet it all came down to you
    With your shirt freshly pressed and teeth
    Like a commercial for dental floss.
    Your hair was always slicked back
    With grease and shined in the
    Flickering lights.
    How could one person do
    Such an evil thing and give me
    No way to explain it?

    I’ve been locked in this room
    For nine months now.
    Water drips through the ceiling
    And leaves a putrid smell that
    Burns my nostrils and stings in
    My eyes and I always wonder if
    It really is water.
    It burns now when I see light
    When you open the door just for
    A moment to watch me wince
    And grimace in pain.
    You seem to take pride that
    I am still here and that nobody has
    Found me.
    Or suspects you.
    But maybe they do, I don’t
    Know what happens out there
    Any more.

    I’ve already gone crazy
    You’ve driven me mad.
    So if the end of my life is
    What you seek, end it now.
    For my sake.

    I don’t know what exactly
    You want from me.
    You used to watch me through
    My window I think,
    Late at night.
    I always wondered if I should
    Call the police.

    You showed up on the street
    Sometimes, though then I thought
    Nothing of it. You smiled or waved
    Or checked out my purchases at
    The grocery store.

    And now I’ve gone mad
    And I think you enjoy it,
    Watching me replay memories in
    My head with the knowledge
    That my heart is full of hatred
    And longing and I won’t ever
    Get to relive those memories
    And I hate you
    And I can do nothing.




    Submitted on 2010-11-21 19:46:07     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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    ||| Comments |||
      When I read the first little bit I was reminded of what I used to write like when I began writing poetry. It was full of angst, unfocused anger, lack of clarity, and some other issues. The only thing that clues me in to what is happening is that this guy in the story has knocked the writer up, and "for nine months" she sits in misery, agony, etc. I'm guessing rape, but then, if you see someone around ("on the street","the grocery store") that raped you, I wouldn't relate to not going to the police about it. You actually bring this point up, and most women who get raped are afraid to bring in their accuser, for fear that they might get assaulted again, and of course, the emotional strength it takes to confront your rapist is substantial.

    In the second stanza, and I say that loosely because it reads as a string, or block of words. Your big blocks of words can sometimes read very densely, and you might want to consider cutting through some of the riff-raff that hinders your points, like in your third stanza. Use some finesse and curve your blocky continuous lines of stanzas into something more meaningful.

    I find the stanzas sometimes contradict themselves..sometimes the writer is imprisoned, sometimes they are doing normal things, and it's not clear whether or not the imprisonment is metaphorical or physical because the writing is VERY blunt. So I'm typically taking things as I read them. That's the opposite of what poetry is; feed the reader bits and pieces at a time through metaphor of different scenes and images, and tie it together with rhyme and other rhythmic devices. Things can't just be thrown out to the reader and in turn they determine what the meaning is. Organize the thoughts of poems so things make more sense instead of less.

    Again, I find this piece very angsty, and so the misinformation is rampant but not unexpected. I would encourage thinking more logically in your process to explain the story you're trying to tell through a poetic license.

    | Posted on 2010-11-21 00:00:00 | by Dolor | [ Reply to This ]


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