and so I know
what I have
to do. the skinny
white bitch that
can't quit
thinking. the
expectations still
bringing along malnutrition.
wobbling on a
flat-tired wheel
barrow, the arrows
don't point as sharply.
darkly through
a mist of "it's for them".
the little arms
wrapped around
my waist,
"and don't waste
your time crying"
it won't do no
good. and still
the small-like girl keeps
on wailing.
becoming again for
another some days
the face of a woman
who framed doorways
and "what's that
pretty blonde’s name
now anyways?"
and so I
mold into the
mucus that clings
to their throats,
must be choked
and hacked and
spit up into to
cloth rag she'll
clean the dishes with.
I am the background
they change when
the mood doesn't
suit it.
the music sick
with fever that
vibrates slowly,
knowing there is
only one way to
be adequate.
I am the collapsed
lung, struggling to
suck in a breath
of secreted air;
and I am the
moths, collected
wet, so they
can't fly away.
Author notes
"How nice- to feel nothing and still get full credit for being alive."
-Kurt Vonnegut, Slaughter-house Five
A contest entry
- Heart first: by Randomly Beautiful.
1000 points, ended January 24, 18 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Any advice is welcome
Comments
1 - 8 of 8
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i like the analogy of a dusty moth better than the giddy butterfly as well, moths make appearances in some of my stuff too
not only would i say you write with a detached clarity, also you seem to me to have a very observent apathy which really strikes a chord in the reader, so the last bit with the moth imagery is my favorite part, next fave is
and so I
mold into the
mucus that clings
to their throats,
must be choked
and hacked and
spit up into to
cloth rag she'll
clean the dishes with.
which actually shocked me a bit, and it seemed so real, all in all Fantastic job!
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thanks.
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wow you released everything before i was going to say there may be grammar problem with the letter needing to be capitalized in fron of each sentence yet your free. It's your poetry. I guess I liek the way you compared so many times following towards the end...nice write dark. It sounded tooo clear though perhaps towars the end try to mess with my head using vocabulary or more details...well creative anyways
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I am the background
they change when
the mood doesn't
suit it. ...
i know that feeling ... good luck in the contest!!!
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Doing the dishes with one's insides made me think of a lot of people being around a crowded Thanksgiving Day kitchen. The poem seems full of "expectations" of other people - framing, molding, collecting - sounds like what happens to butterflies more than moths - tho moths speak more of the inside - why not butterflies (as in one's stomach?)
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moths don't have that "pretty" connotations like butterflies. They are more dusty-like. Not very attractive. Thanks for your comment and insight.
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i loved it.
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i like this; i like this a lot
.
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