And all you ever wanted
was to divide the line
across the inside and the out.
With ready acknowledgment
you realize
there is no sterilization of the inside
so you ache with the desire
for its compression;
torn away from the walls,
at least then the outside could be pristine.
But there is no division,
one is tainted with the other.
But all you want is to be clean.
And you understand
it's never possible
your scarlet flesh testimony of that;
your futile attempts
to rend it from your body
merely tear at your own skin;
the stain is too much of who you are.
But all you've ever wanted was to be clean.
Author notes
Last bad poem I wrote. Title I chose right this second, for a reason I already cannot recall.
Comments
-
Insightful, but no glimmer of hope.
Hi Stumbles,
Good description of the common human experience; the impossibility of reconciling the spiritual and psychological trauma we bring upon ourselves through our moral decisions.
"But there is no division and one is tainted with the other.... The stain is too much of who you are. But all you've ever desired is to be clean." Excellent lines.
Ideed, too many people choose the option of 'compression', of the shrinkage of their being, in an effort to deal with guilt and feelings of uncleanness. Your description of self-harm expresses the hopelessness that too many people feel.
The title, though chosen spur of the moment, summarises the poem well: Skin and pulp, external blemishes [or not], internal wholeness[or rot]; the loss of wholeness when it is crushed; etc. Good metaphor.
Useful repetition of the wanting 'to be clean' phrase.
If I may balance your thoughts with a quote?
""If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and cleanse us from all unrighteousness." John the Apostle.
We ourselves can never "divide the line", nor effect our own cleansing. All such independence results in some form of self-harm.
JG
-
This is amazing, I love the title.
This is deep with emotions, I'm amazed at your talent, at how you've conveyed these ideas into words. Beautiful.
-
Mild repetition. Can be worked on. Parts of it are really rough on the tongue but a few spots run smoothly. Nothing a little editing couldn't fix.
I see how the title fits in:
"there is no sterilization of the inside
so you ache with the desire
for its compression;
torn away from the outside walls."
At least, that makes me think of oranges.
I like the concept you had hidden behind all of it. Actually triggers one to digest it (not the orange). Something writing is supposed to do.
With all that said, I give my usual three claps because you are a poet of talent and effort. And that is always something to admire.
Adding your comment:
