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I can't blame you for taking something airy, so fairy, light and irresistible to destroy because that's what foolish men do, they grip these things so tightly in their hungry fingers and squeeze it into a tight, hard stone and then they open their hands and let it drop. I blame myself for lying still, dirty and small and allowing the ground to become my bed, the rain to become a comfort, and the feet of all the men following behind you to pound me into a well-traveled road, when I was meant to stir trees and scatter dandelion seeds. |
I blame myself for lying still, dirty and small and allowing the ground to become my bed, My GOD. These words are the words of EVERY woman. No matter how accomplished or evolved. I feel like at some point--at ONE point, at least-- we all say these words to ourselves. How sad for each and every one of us. How truly sad. when I was meant to stir trees and scatter dandelion seeds. Your work moves me. Thank you. | Posted on 2017-04-18 00:00:00 | by JanePlane | [ Reply to This ] | The problem is the blame never lies still anywhere, it likes to stir stuff up so it always moves around. :D Anyway, this is a good poem, the only problem I see is in the first stanza you say: "they grip these things" and then you go on "and squeeze it", you should either change things into thing or say squeeze them or something as it doesn't make sense as it is... | | Posted on 2017-04-11 00:00:00 | by Paradox | [ Reply to This ] | This would work exquisitely if there was a substance named blame that we paved our roads with. There's also this cartoon, which, likely about something completely different, would also make this poem relevant to the whole trump administration (I'm not sure how versed you are with american politics). | explorepahistory.com/displayimage.php?imgId=1-2-1E97 I find the last two verses particularly interesting because they could bode boons or banes. | Posted on 2017-04-11 00:00:00 | by Outlaw | [ Reply to This ] | |