kelmo's profile
AGE:
23
LOC: United States
GEN: Female
LAST LOGIN: November 13
LOC: United States
GEN: Female
LAST LOGIN: November 13
Why does my Muse only speak when she is unhappy?
She does not, I only listen when I am unhappy
When I am happy I live and despise writing
For my Muse this cannot but be dispiriting.
-Stevie Smith
Items
Version 2
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You remember the small things. Like the Lisa Frank stickers on the oxygen tank, the drug-induced dreams of cheeseburgers and chocolate cake, and how dry everything was. The nurses would ask, “Did you know that you smile in your sleep?” In the other room the babies cried, damp clothes stuck to their small backs, and hair matted dejectedly. But you didn’t cry. Didn’t look out the window at the fog-colored buildings, the pigeons who made their hom...
Version 1
2 Reviews
0 Comments
The Burden The weight pulls me forward in a compulsory curtsy, a subliminal gesture of my submissive condition. My back aches. I can’t stand up straight. The burden sits heavy over my heart, whose thumping is muted, whose voice is suppressed by a soft cushion. My chest heaves. I can’t breathe. The load I bear conceals my face, though its situated far below it. It hushes the words that sit in my mouth, obscures the truths that rest in my eyes. I bear it for those who find pl...
Version 2
3 Reviews
1 Comment
On the edge of the wrought-iron bed, innocence spilled between us, heart beats staggering, hard under a sheet of dewy skin we lingered precariously two autumn leaves right before they fall. Blue eyes pointed at brown eyes pointed at strands of carpet between clenched toes. Sweat and tears are really the same pain under different names. This is when the clouds shifted, and the rain whispered urgent at the window, this-is-it. this-is-it. this. this.
Version 4
2 Reviews
1 Comment
I remember how I listened to the first mixed CD - sitting floppy, spine arched over the blurry ruins of World Religion and Psych 101 - Casualties of the warrior words that marched victoriously through my unoccupied mind.
Version 4
28 Reviews
4 Comments
I wish I could go back to being five, when a person was a person. Gender was hardly distinguished. Cliques could fade and meld and accidents were forgiven or forgotten within moments. We were all in the same place a universal stem of childhood that gradually branched out, formed new buds, became a new plant altogether. The past was only the weight of a few years. I'd like to go back before enough time had passed for people to become so different from each other.
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Reviews
Sometimes I think we are drawn to the more painful relationships because the pain is like momentum. When something isn't perfect we can idealize what it could be. And what we imagine is always better than any reality. Love is pain, true, but it's also fantasy. We keep fighting for some ideal and the fighting and the pain become powerful in themselves because they're associated with that ideal. I think the most powerful relationships come from striving for a beautiful ideal, even if we never r...
I love the closing statement from "Honestly.." I know exactly how you feel. Sometimes when someone loves you so much you want to love them back just for loving you. It's hard to know if it's more kind to give him a chance or to let him go and spare him from a potential rejection. I can also relate to the uneasiness that comes with being so utterly revered by someone. I always tend to think, I'm not perfect, no one is. So if he thinks I'm perfect, does he really know me? Or is it a projected i...
Is the "single device" that you mention a television? I'm not sure if this is meant to be read literally, but that was the image I got from the references to light suddenly stretching forth and pixilation. I did find some of the language a bit challenging to sift through..In the first stanza for example I couldn't follow which nouns went with which verbs: are the pipes that "scale walls" also what is being "haunted" and "hung"? By the second half it started to read a bit more clearly for me. ...
It reminds me of a haiku - very simple and to-the-point, and it focuses on a single image. The phrase "flames were like wildfires" seems a little redundant. Maybe their love (or the lovers themselves)is like wildfires? I would also get rid of "may" in the last line because you already said it earlier. Even though it's a short poem I think you could trim it up to make it really concise and powerful.
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