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Seventeen

Time ticks and tocks and slips away,
No time for work. No time for play.
It's time that goes and fucks us all,
But you still stand there, straight and tall,
And make me fall.

Prime number, prime number, how you plague me so.
No matter my struggle, you will not let go.
Your grasp, it consumes me; I fall to the floor.
Why won't you leave me? I'll show you the door.
Plague me no more.

There are privileges that I'm just not allowed.
There are times that I feel I'm left out of the crowd.
There is loss due to youth, and loss leads to despair.
There are relationships past the point of repair.
You're always there.

Responsible choices are shoved upon me,
But there are still so many worlds I've yet to see.
Among all the people, I'm feeling left out.
I have no control; I cannot speak out.
Fills me with doubt.

What causes such uproar about these such things?
What person decides if this nightingale sings?
What sadness befell me? Why is my head hung?
Where's that support upon which I had clung?
But I'm too young.

I'm not too young.

Author notes

Not my best, but it was annoying me, so I wrote about it.

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Comments


  • shatteredreflection
    January 19
    Edit | Reply
    sorry meant to applaud

  • shatteredreflection
    January 19

    Edit | Reply

    :)

    I very much like the rhythm in this piece. I feel like the previous comment on this poem stole all my words, so excuse the lack of constructive comments. Also the hour, may have something to do with that. However I do like the nightingale reference, for some reason it reminded me of Sweeny Todd. What person decides if you show your happiness and sing? Or steals your voice from beneath your lips? Great job!
    Take care!
    ~Erin

  • surrealstripes
    November 18, 2008

    Edit | Reply
    I think this is easily one of the best peices of yours I've ever read. It has meter and rhyme, but doesn't read like a nursery rhyme.

    Line 12 seems a bit off meter-wise. Line 22 I'm not sure about. I guess I don't really get the nightingale metaphor. It seems so bright against the rest of the poem and out of place.

    I like how the last line of each stanza is shorter than the rest. It punctuates your point.

    And I don't really know why, or if I even get it, but line 6 "Prime number, prime number" I really, really like.