I was in too much shit
to stand
beside and not on the track
when he asked me to keep walking; I slipped
in between gravels
the platonic sky
smirked
to burn my insides
with how his hands traced her hair and her curves; how good it felt… and damn they made love with the pace of rain racing with the music they made
it really was okay when he patted my hair
and made me forget
about the oceans and cliffs and gulls and tulips he wrote in her name. his truly.
there was a jungle amid the folds of pages
from which he tried to read poetry
to me before we chewed each other’s insecurity; I could tell, I knew
I was burning, but I didn’t stop… I was the anteater, nibbling his melancholy to sport with mine.
walking a garden of dreamy daffodils felt
fine; groovy (a word I had picked up while he described how they used to contort one against another)
his words were such bastards; like them, who force me to try it for fun… it was really a drug and somehow, he became a placebo; fingers barely giving me strength to stand right back up.
he said “my mother would like to see you”
and the same night
she would come and fly like a pigeon inside his iris when we made out.
tarzan was right
I should have listened to the broken voice on radio
“bhule jeo na shey tomai chai na…”
“don’t forget that he doesn’t want you”
Author notes
for tas.
A contest entry
- A Darker Poetry Contest III by -BlackKnight-.
525 points, ended August 11, 2008, 20 entries
Gold trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
don't comment on this.
Comments
1 - 13 of 13
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I was going through my bookmarked poems and came across this poem of yours. I loved it way before I knew you. amazing that at eighteen you can write like this.
at eighteen I was still into flowers and chocolates and sugary sweet greeting cards. stayed there for quite some time too lol
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lol... i am not 18... i am 20 and will be 21 soon
and thanks a lot 
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"it really was okay when he patted my hair
and made me forget
about the oceans and cliffs and gulls and tulips he wrote in her name. his truly."
what a section
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First off, who the hell are you? I need to know so I can read more of your stuff later.
This actually reminded me A LOT of another stream-of-consciousness-style writer here that, sadly, doesn't come here anymore; she (p b without the j) was phenomenal at it.
Anyway, this was pretty great, and so far the best relationship-got-fucked-up poem I've read in this contest far and away. So, thanks for entering. Honest. -
I feel like I've been zapped. Like a rash child who stuck a fork into an electrical socket. That's how I feel after reading this. I'm pretty sure the electricity will still be coursing my mind for awhile after I leave this poem... brill
~Meg
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whoa!
fucking LOVED this.
[excuse my french.]
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you are really good at this stuff... did you know that?
m
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thanks...
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i missed you. wonderfully written.
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haha i was always here ...
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hm
wow im completly impressed. i loved this poem as a whole and i dont think its possible for me to pick a favorite part to like. im not really great at commenting and explaining how i loved it; also im not great at crit. but in my opinion you shouldn't change anything. thank you for sharing
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These are wounds that don't even come close to healed scars, they tend to keep on slashing you each stanza you read and then you get to the end and just want to slash at something yourself, just for his ignorance of taunting you with the previous words. Damn fine write even if it bleeds your soul piece by piece. Love, C
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Ouch. That ending...how very human and sure of you.
I lost myself in your write, so forgive me if I don't leave anything critically. I liked all the very unfinished aspects of this piece...the soul is so obviously in the background, screaming. Your poems have really taken on a much more personal feel of late, and I mean that in no bad sense...Most of your stuff is personal, but lately, I feel so much now that I am just more willing to forgive the un-tightening of your thoughts. The daffodils stanza rips my heart out and ejects it like a shattered dove into the hemisphere. A lot of this aches like an open wound and I'm almost sure this was somewhat painful to write. I admire that gift. I use it a lot in my own.
;
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