I am terrified.
the door I barricaded
is hanging cock-skewed
on threads of metal
(the locket’s
hips are swung
too wide—)
a hole spreading:
no more poems, I am not
your inner child.
with the bread knife
lifted
we can start talking
like normal
fathers and daughters
Author notes
I guess I'm writing about this a lot at the moment.
Hope you can guess me, Nic.. Ana..
A contest entry
- Poetry Themes by Nicole Hanna.
1000 points, ended March 3, 2007, 21 entries
Silver trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 7 of 7
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This is really, really good. Congrats to you. You are an excellent writer.
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this is powerful
chilling like fingers crawling up your spine.
induces a sense of dread, almost.
i love how your line breaks are always so perfect
complimenting your words
amazingg.
x
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Arw honey. *hugs* i love yooo <3 this is so sad
i hope you're ok. beautiful and powerful words...
i love you.
that's all. x
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Something many write about on this site - this looks at it in a different way again. Congrats on the silver - great write.
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I love you honey
beautiful and a terrifying image of reality.
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Of course I can guess. lol. You have one of those unmistakable voices
And this is such a great example of your work. The second stanza (can they be called stanzas in free form poetry? I'm always confused about that) is wonderful... the concept of inner child is so fun to play with, and you've done a bang-up job of it here.
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Ahh ... a little freaky, image wise, especially how I think this is a metaphor:
"(the locket’s
hips are swung
too wide—"
--for legs/sexual abuse. But that's me. I think if it's not, it definitely could be. Another horrifying tale.
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