on the drive here:
"Dayton is where people go to die." jokingly,
you looked at me out of the corner of your eye.
my parents- almost 50- show no signs of leaving
this comfortable hollow they've carved for themselves.
Living at this odd juxtaposition
between commercial suburbia
and failing Midwest farmland
(complete with gutted barns and sharpening overgrowth),
it feels like the Bermuda triangle of the Miami Valley.

I can feel this childish loneliness
seeping back as I lie in my old bed,
like a sense memory of a ghost limb.
Tracing my fingers around the hole in the wallpaper
that I'd kicked stubbornly, out of sheer frustration,
I sink my fist inside,
for some honest truth inside these walls.
Finding nothing.
The silence is deafening compared to the city,
and I find myself falling asleep, thinking
'my dead cat is buried on a high hill in those woods,
in an unmarked grave.'

Lonesome, loathsome, loveliness
like a tile mosaic on a bathroom floor
where I vomited blood
because my last painting or poem
wasn't good enough,
and the woods next door to my parent's house,
still as vast and unfathomable as always.
art tumblr

If I'm not raw, I'm just a bit underdone.
Last edited by Svetlova at Nov 24, 2011,
there are a few things i'd change around just because of my own stylistic bias. i'd hyphen off "my almost-fifty-parents", for instance, and take out the first "it" of the last line. i really enjoyed the alliterated line, but i'd move "or poem" up a line. again, that's just my own personal reading of it, for flow's sake.

but i did love it.
the only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones that never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn

^thanks, I agree and used your suggestions. admittedly, this is my least polished work to date, I drunkenly typed it out in a fit at like 3 AM, partially because it's been too long since I wrote a piece and also because writing seemed to be the only thing that made sense at the time.

I'm very open to critiques still, because I feel like there's still some issues but it's such a personal piece that I'm having a hard time looking at it objectively.
art tumblr

If I'm not raw, I'm just a bit underdone.
I loved everything except "Lonesome, loathsome, loveliness."

I get the play on words... but it seems so, unrefined, compared to everything else you've put here. It comes across more as a play on sounds than a heartfelt moment in the piece. Like you thought, "check it out, these sound the same... I'll just stick it in here and then write around it!" That little bit of less mature playing around didn't sit with me.

Otherwise, this is quite lovely. And yes, Dayton is a hell-hole. I'm glad I got out when I had the chance. Not everyone there sucks... but a high percentage.
Aw, thanks guys. This I certainly an encouragement to write poetry again. It's been like a four month hiatus as I've been spending most of my time working on paintings for my thesis show coming up next March. Maybe I'll share of few of them sometime, I've always considered writing poems to accompany them, but I've always felt I'm not polished enough as a poet and I'd hate for one to detract from the other. Also, conceptually, having poems alongside implies that they are illustrations rather than fine art...but I'm rambling.

Anyway, thanks, this really was completely unexpected.
art tumblr

If I'm not raw, I'm just a bit underdone.
this is a great poem. thank you so much for your kind words on mine. post something less good so i can critique it better.

that last stanza is one of those stanzas that you have tried to write a million times and then you read something like this and you're just like, shit, that is how i've wanted to say it for so many years. raw, accurate, and beautifully tragic.