Description: This is still in need of some refining, but I wanted to get it up here for opinions before I started putting a lot of time into it.
I wrote it for my two best friends who helped me stop cutting. Its kind of erratic because I wrote it in a moment of frustration when I couldn't decide whether to tell my friends I had started cutting again or not. I ended up telling them by sending them this poem, and as usual, they were amazing and warm, and I have managed to stop again, for a week.
So, I'd appreciate hearing anything you guys have to say, particularly ways to improve this poem so it makes a little more sense. Thanks. -Jinx
Flesh and Poetry -------------------------------------------
She sits alone in silence
Her heart held in her fist;
Thinks of tearing off the bandage
That caresses her wrist.
Her flesh is only paper,
The steel is her pen,
Her pain is just a story and
Each chapter is a sin.
Her eyes are dark and hollow and
Her features are immune
To comfort and complacency
And every afternoon
She drags her muddy sneakers
Up the stairs and back inside
And then begins the game;
Mom doesn't seek, but she still hides.
And just the fact that no one asks
Is all she needs for fuel
Before she shuts the door and locks it:
Now begins the duel.
She's en garde, and he is ready
For a bloody, heartless fight
A heartless fight with all the heart
Of wrath and hate and spite.
And one would always think
That endless never ends
But forever's just a word
Its motives can be cleansed.
Healing is more than a word
And as always, healing starts
With the simple introduction
Of sturdy allied hearts.
She knows she owes them everything
Even when sometimes she's weak
She hates her perfect promise
That she knows she cannot keep.
She tries with all her heart
And most often she succeeds
But when the world crumbles
Her notebook starts to bleed.
She'd write down every moment
Of her gasping, desperate fight
But there's just too much emotion
It wouldn't come out right
So she tries with all her heart
To keep the promise that she made,
And she's sorry for each time
That her steel hand has strayed.
I don't normally like poetry that sticks to a simple rhyme scheme but this poem was an exception to the rule. The rhyme seemed really appropriate, really drove the poem on and on, like the waves of a bloody tide.
The image of the skin as paper, the blade as a pen made me winch, it made the skin feel so delicate. It also reminded me of the lines "I am an architect, they call me a butcher" from one of my favourite songs, the idea that cutting is a kind of twisted art, a desperate form of self-expression.
I haven't really got any criticism, the lines all flow well and the narrative makes sense. But maybe you could alter the lines:
Her flesh is only paper, The steel is her pen, Her pain is just a story and Each chapter is a sin.
As every other rhyme works it seems a shame that there isn't one here.
Thanks for posting and good luck giving up, it may be hard but it'll be worth it in the end.
This is one sad piece, I must say I was really moved and had to shed a few tears for this one. You crafted this write with so much precision,your use of imagery is just disturbing. You have done an incredible job of painting this graphic scene for us, but you make it appear so beautiful because of how you present it..Plus your choice of words is so astute. This piece does'nt engulf the pain that the narrator is going through and its clearly articulated from the way she chooses to shut her self from the world and deal with her own demons. Nevertheless this soul is aware that she is in control, but she/he doenst engage in this ordeal merely because they lack control, but because they choose to do this painful thing. For some reason, some degree of pleasure is attained from this act. However, this piece made me realize how much some people need someone to reach out to them, whether its through support or compassion. I was really touched of the honesty you potrayed and articulated in this piece...The most powerful verse has to be the following:"She drags her muddy sneakers Up the stairs and back inside And then begins the game; Mom doesn't seek, but she still hides. And just the fact that no one asks Is all she needs for fuel Before she shuts the door and locks it: Now begins the duel. She's en garde, and he is ready For a bloody, heartless fight A heartless fight with all the heart Of wrath and hate and spite"..Moroever, the entire piece was too powerful, it wasnt easy for me as a reader to digest this piece, but Im glad you shared this piece with us. Still, I hope you found solace in this write and you may use it along with the support of your mates as a stepping stone to overcomming this hurdle. Its not an easy route especially this habit easily becomes an intergral part of your life, but Im glad you have voiced your struggle..WE CARE..Thank you for sharing...Best Regards Pumi
Submission Name: Flesh and Poetry
