Poetry / Forbidden Places
Riding in the bed of an old metal truck as the velvet of the sky passes overhead—this is not allowed because it is beautiful. I say, let men burn their constellations. Let men burn what should not be right. Let us burn that which is forbidden.
Forbidden is the space and gravity between bodies of time and virtue. Forbidden are the things that make us smile. A kiss, secret pages, the push and pull of nature. We are not to touch that which lies behind the glass.
The sweet collision of skin-on-skin, a deadly sensation, has been shown to us as the wrong thing to take pleasure in. We have been conditioned against human nature.
Forbidden is the will to be different. Social heirarchy takes the place of individuality and suddenly, independant thoughts and beleifs are pushed aside, left to simmer on the back burner.
I can’t fall in love with this man because a collective opinion won’t allow me to. I can’t marvel at the spires of complexity and beauty in the middle of the Woods because somewhere, not too far away, there is a man behind a metal machine ready to tear it all down.
Forbidden is any consideration of true character when the outer shell--the body-- does not agree with what Vogue says is absolute beauty.
Outside the walls of this place, the skeleton of defiance is hoping that she can still take flight without wings.
We can’t even love ourselves anymore—we can’t have to much pride in what has been given to us because somewhere, somebody is telling us that we’re too fat, or too thin, too dark or too white.
Forbidden is the crossing of racial lines. White men are white, have always been white, will always be white, end of story, no questions asked. White men cannot explore because white men simply do not know.
It’s foolish, though.
It’s foolish how a woman will sit in her kitchen watching the water boil because she’s always been one to believe that she’s had no buisness doing otherwise. It’s foolish how a man is berated for loving another man, how a woman is condemned for loving another woman. We are all human.
It’s foolish how a child is led to believe that in life, a grade--a letter in the Alphabet--is all that really matters.
Forbidden is the pure desire for knowledge. Forbidden is lust. Forbidden is our origin, our future, what we’ve been told to keep inside, the rainforest, the universe, simplicity and chaos existing together simultaneously. Forbidden are chocolates and sunsets and listening to what you tell yourself, rather than to what the rest of them say.
Forbidden is extreme self-expression because in this world--in our world--it simply doesn’t fit the mold.
These things are the slumping shack in my backyard; they are the rusty tools and broken hammers that lie behind locked doors protected by one Hand, and we are the ones outside, prying at the windows to get in.
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I love the themes here and you have a great way of wording things. You tie down many different issues into one solidifying theme, the idea of the forbidden and taboo, and explore how that plays out in society. The first two stanzas/sentences are amazing, and I love the language of the ending. Very well worded and good command of language.
I found, though, that the piece reads more like prose than poetry. The direct straightforward statements, the discursivity, the argumentative tone, and the lack of literary devices in many parts of the poem, all make it read more like prose. Although long lines arent always a problem, they do compound the prose style you have here which hinders its ability to really come across as a poem. I would suggest that either:
a) you write it as a piece of poetic philosophical prose—that way you can really go into your arguments and your analysis that has already begun. I hope you do this either way. OR:
b) try to rewrite many areas of the poem by extending the metaphors and images you set out in the first and last stanzas, and integrating them into the discursive ideas you are trying to put across. (e.g. shacks, tools, doors, glass, windows, constellations, sky, etc.)
The last paragraph/stanza is really one of my favorites and I think it is there that you begin to get metaphorical. Its a great metaphor. I think i would like to hear more about how the shack and windows and tools are similar to the forbidden objects you talk about. That would connect the last stanza with the poem better.
And that way, your reader can work a little bit to gain more and more layers of meaning rather than getting it all in argumentative style at once.
Good work though, this has so much potential and I hope you run with it.
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i get what you are saying. why, why, why, the
most ancient of questions. In society there are no absolutes, we still hold true to our relgious beliefs. Some things are still taboo and I don’t know if that will ever change
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