There was a period in my life when my intended destiny was to publish a book of poetry, or two. I would think over a single sentence all day long. Although my ego needs were satisfied, because I knew the content, I never believed anyone else would comprehend. That was the dominant force that made me stop writing. Never ever could I give myself the courage, or the credit to bare all at the risk of having nobody internalize the words. So, I thought what better way to laugh in the face of my own ridiculous insecurity than comment on my old poems.
:
Context - Grade 10
Lightly sparked crimson
and streaming, gleaming gold
These fish nets won't ever be sold
Now: This has to be about some ridiculous fish net stockings I saw in a store and decided to make aesthetic.
Stairwells that lead nowhere
Alleyways to paradise
Bells chime at the turn of the hour
They'll always ask questions
not wanting the answers
Now: I was intrigued by the idea of impossible pathways. Insert time motif, no further reference...sure. I greatly enjoyed amputating my sentences
that was dramatic.
Our cold war
was freezing
My glaciers were the first to erode
Now: I had a fight with someone, probably just watched Ice Age, and done an assignment on the the Iron Curtain.
You went platinum
the profit running into the
strainer
Perfectly initiated
Seemingly effortless
They'll commend you
the fastest to ever sell out
Now : This poem was about a whorey girl with major daddy issues ditching me to be more popular and slutty. Also strainer sounded like strain her, as she evidently did to my emotions. Ah, to be young.
Socks inside of socks
Now: My first incredibly artistic interpretation of properly folded socks.
Gargle and allude
Shake well before disposal
Now: This poem appears inspired from a mouthwash label, a timeless muse. Really, it was about douchey guys in high school being vague and objectifying. The shake well before disposal is a play on words to the regular food instruction. I intended for it to symbolize the inability for d-bags to open up, but rather mind fuck the hell out of you and then stop talking to you in Social class.
Lip stained skin and
clutched frame of mind
I don't want to, but I have
Now: This was about a guy I lead on for a while. I obviously felt a combination of self-righteousness and guilt about the situation. He told me 2 years later that he'd never forgotten about me, I remember laughing out load . The confession was over FB chat.
Context -2006
He'll rest on the seams
You've woven shut.
Now: Although they seem like the best kind of friends and summer flings; Water-polo players have water on the brain and don't know how to treat me like another member of the human condition. Apathy is an art with this lot.
Drenched with laziness
signifying dirt
stepped on and tied
but never hurt.
Now: Ladies and Gentlemen, my Ode to the Shoelace.
You bear nothing with your gifts
foreign shifts and moonly howls
Don't you miss me too?
Now: I obviously didn't like this guy, but once we howled at the moon together. So I assumed he should yearn for me.
She's lonely
She needs me
from a place I need to be
The place that separates us
distorted but clear
The continents seem so much smaller
on paper
so much closer in scale
Now: This poem still has great significance for me. It's about my best friend being deported, after living in Canada for 7 years and being my friend for 6 of them. She currently lives in Ireland, and I miss her daily. This poem is a heartbroken interpretation of a map with two markings.
Into a false sense of literacy I, the inarticulate am rising.
Now: This, fittingly enough was my take on my writing in 2007.
I'm so adjective, I verb nouns.
