I shot straight up in bed last night.
There is, after all, nowhere to hide from the
rantings and ravings of an insomniac, poetic mind,
with the words swirling round the entrails of my skull
like the red and yellow mingling of flavors
in a giant Cracker Barrel lolly;
so, I forcibly smile the civility of seventeen
still imprinted onto my fingertips from the days
of deadlines and dares and dreams to be ignored,
until you’d almost think her me—that hollow pile
of flesh and blood, and long, brown hair;
[my hair’s still long. ]
and, I mask the cringing eyes with drumming fingers,
the wincing shoulders with tapping feet;
all while these cold, withering, uninvited words
slither and co-mingle with blood and politics and reality
inside my pounding chest, then slip through the course, unlit
pathways of strained artery beneath tensed bicep,
and dribble, 90°, down to my wrist,
through each clenched finger, and out vile
purple, spewed ink.
My mind thirsts for inebriation—
blurring of colors and sounds and emotions
through dulled whispers and sharpened, utter
inability to slice exterior fiends to match her insanity.
My soul begs for sobriety
from falsehood and pretense and expectation,
and that flighty look in your eye
when you meet my candy-red swirls
perceived purple in translation of ink and emotion.
My heart yearns for the purge.
Together, we find no satisfaction in confections and rhymes.
Pity—and, yet, tears murder the rain
Author notes
1. 1. Name [Real & User]: Kelsey-Jo—both
2. Age: 19
3. Amount of Poetic Experience: When I was 12, following some rather rough life lessons and losses, I picked up the pen and haven’t rested it yet. Roughly seven years, I’d say.
4. Typical/Strongest Style: I live, write, and breathe in abstract freeverse—you get nothing for free, nothing skimmed off the surface from me; however, that which you do discover will make you think, feel, or question things you may never otherwise have.
5. Unusual/Weakest Style: Structure suffocates me. I can do it and, perhaps, even fairly well, but as I’ve previously stated, I live, write, and breathe in the abstract. My weakness is writing in strict rhyme and/or meter. Forms are fun once in a great while, but I need freedom from where I’m sitting right now.
6. Favorite Type of Inspiration: Random. I love sitting in the car and feeling it hit me like a ton of bricks, or waking up from dreamless sleep with words in my mind and knocking over the lamp trying to seek out a pen or pencil… or marker.
7. Amount of Multiround Experience: None. I have limited access to the internet so I’ve found it difficult to commit to most that assume you sit on your computer 24/7. This contest sounds different. Kudos.
8. Some Accomplishments: If you’d like to see my APLand legacy, you can mosy on over to my page and see the random trophies. Other than that, all I can tell you is word of mouth, take it or leave it. Every teacher since I was 14 has told me I need to be a writer. My Expository/Creative writing teacher seems to think I’ll be famous—she’s a bit eccentric, though. I’ve been the examples read in English classes for as long as I can remember, and beyond that, I’ve simply never put my writing out any further than Allpoetry.
9. One Fact I Don’t Know About You: I get clostrophobic around too many people, though never small spaces. Stick me in a suitcase on cargo and I’ll be fine, but place me on a huge train squished between two people, even my best friends, and I’ll most likely snap.
10. Additional Comments You’d Like Me To Read: I dream big, live small, and expect nothing. I’m poor, self-sufficient, and doing everything in my power to be the person I want to be for the rest of my life; and that, my friend, is where every word you encounter from my meek mind stems.
A contest entry
- project poetry season one [multiround contest auditions] by blackday.
300 points, ended March 21, 2008, 16 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
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This had parts that I really enjoyed. However, I personally don't care for how unrefined this felt. I think you have a good poem here, but it's just kind of line-after-line without a focus, or without a total meaning to the spacings/punctuation.
For example, I would have totally gone for the second to last line as the ending. It was strong. Then I scrolled down to see another line & it disappointed me.
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Sorry, tried to warn you that my poetry's the kind you have to read through a few times. It's a fairly simply concept though--all about the words. That's why I changed the title, to give you another hint.
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