Thread: Please do not jump to conclusions. >.> (content Language...)

Alright, done with my repressive binge, i am posting again! woop! but as I said, please do not jump to conclusions, U_U I understand that unlike my other stuff, this is pretty straight forward and to the point. No, I am not a typical emo kid who cuts herself while listening to skinny kids with guitars scream about girls who aren't me.. (if you're american chances are you understood that lol) but this is a serious piece about someone with an actual problem, if you want me to get all cliche I will tell you it is not necessarily me, though I do highly relate to the girl's emotional upheaval. That's all I care to say... please try to consider this work as a serious piece of art and emotion and not as the cliche bitching of a teenage brat. thanks a bunch -la sainte

Whole Hearts

A doll face, capricious.
Covered in her own content,
but bottling in a thick regret
that grows and mutates
as she marinates and
mutilates.
Every friend is every wound;
is every laugh that shows
every tooth and every tongue
that kept silent for
far too long.

But every love that filters in
between the steel and
separated skin paralyzes solace;
drags it away, the discontent
that has become our
favorite friend.

A lonesome world in which she
peers through the bars
to look at brown to
pink to white, fat and shiny
fading scars.
She waves goodbye to her
own arm.
And her knees.
And her shins.
And her wrists,
then sheds her skin.

But grocery bags of thought
dangle and shuffle-
knock her off balance,
make unhealthy laughter muffled.
It's all just so distracting,
an intro-personal design.
When all she fucking wants
is a little light to shine
on the ignorant, the poor
and happy souls
who have old skin that's
whole.
Who have hearts that are
whole.

And she hates it, and
she loves it.
And she misses how
the blood drips
and the thought
of getting caught
leaves the smallest smirk
on her lips.

But now the house is empty
and the kitchen's full of knives.
But such despair is out of reach,
no longer solid but like air.

Because every love, has filtered in
between steel and separated skin.
It's paralyzed our solace, dragged
it away, the discontent that was
once our favorite friend.

I take this one very seriously la saint. In fact, I think it's great.

I've played around a bit with some of the line breaks below, but that is often a personal preference and they are only suggestions. Feel free to disregard them, but for me they flow a little better this way. I also cut out some of the 'ands'.



A doll face, capricious. ----- not sure about the full stop here, a semi colon might be better.
Covered in her own content,
but bottling in a thick regret
that grows and mutates
as she marinates
and mutilates.

Every friend is every wound;
is every laugh that shows
every tooth and every tongue
that kept silent for
far too long.

But every love that filters in
between the steel
and separated skin
paralyzes solace; drags it away,
the discontent that has become
our favorite friend.

A lonesome world in which she
peers through the bars
to look at brown
to pink, to white, fat
and fading scars.
She waves goodbye
to her own arm:
Knees, shins, wrists—
then sheds her skin.

But grocery bags of thought
dangle and shuffle-
knock her off balance,
make unhealthy laughter muffled.
It's all just so distracting,
an intro-personal design.
When all she fucking wants
is a little light to shine
on the ignorant, the poor
and happy souls
who have old skin that's
whole.
Who have hearts that are
whole.

And she hates it, and
she loves it.
And she misses how
the blood drips
and the thought
of getting caught
leaves the smallest smirk
on her lips.

But now the house is empty
and the kitchen's full of knives.
But such despair is out of reach,
no longer solid but like air.

Because every love, has filtered in
between steel and separated skin.
It's paralyzed our solace, dragged
it away, the discontent that was
once our favorite friend.

I like this. Your words bring the poor girls plight to life. I feel for her and wish I could help her. Good one.

Thanks alot guys, most people have a hard time sympathizing with people who have these problems (or at least from what I have seen), my job was to try to exploit the softness and humanity in something so cruel and self deprecating. And Gumby, flow was something greatly considered when writing this. It is such a pregnant subject and something I really wanted to do justice, but I didn't want it to be overwhelming or too wordy- I just started school but as soon as I get the chance I will go over your revision and compare it. Thank you so much for taking the time.

Hey, there--

Not gonna read the preface. Sorry, but the poem doesn't need it. No poem needs it. It needs to stand alone, and all that. So, let's look at the poem:

[QUOTE=saintenitouche;1495617]

Alright, done with my repressive binge, i am posting again! woop! but as I said, please do not jump to conclusions, U_U I understand that unlike my other stuff, this is pretty straight forward and to the point. No, I am not a typical emo kid who cuts herself while listening to skinny kids with guitars scream about girls who aren't me.. (if you're american chances are you understood that lol) but this is a serious piece about someone with an actual problem, if you want me to get all cliche I will tell you it is not necessarily me, though I do highly relate to the girl's emotional upheaval. That's all I care to say... please try to consider this work as a serious piece of art and emotion and not as the cliche bitching of a teenage brat. thanks a bunch -la sainte

Whole Hearts

A doll face, capricious.
Covered in her own content,
but bottling in a thick regret
that grows and mutates
as she marinates and
mutilates.
Every friend is every wound;
is every laugh that shows
every tooth and every tongue
that kept silent for
far too long.

I'm liking the first stanza. I respond positively to the alliterative elements: "marinates"/"mutilates", "tooth"/"tongue", "covered/"content". Does "capricious" modify "face"? Or the one who owns the "doll face"? If the former, is "capricious" the best word to describe facial expressions and so forth? I mean, "capricious" is "erratic", so... erratic face? Hm, maybe. I guess a face could be subject to whims and what not-- a twisting of features, facial ticks or whatever. If the latter, then you'd need to rephrase so that the subject has a doll face and is capricious. "covered in her own content"-- very cool! I like "bottling in a thick regret" more than "that grows and mutates" because the former, though far from new and inventive, is very organic, whereas the latter is very mechanical. See, "bottling"-- its tactility-- gives me a framework for perceiving the abstraction of "regret". And "thick" helps.


But every love that filters in
between the steel and
separated skin paralyzes solace;
drags it away, the discontent
that has become our
favorite friend.

"separated skin"-- how's the skin been separated and from what? "paralyzes solace"-- there's prettier ways of saying that. More concrete ways. A clear image to capture that idea.

A lonesome world in which she
peers through the bars
to look at brown to
pink to white, fat and shiny
fading scars.
She waves goodbye to her
own arm.
And her knees.
And her shins.
And her wrists,
then sheds her skin.

I wouldn't describe the scars as both "shiny" and "fading". If they're fading, then they're not shiny. Fading denotes a loss in brightness. I very much like the idea of waving goodbye to one's body parts. There's something sharp, stark and fractured about it, and the syntax-- the sentence fragments, the enumeration-- reflects that.

But grocery bags of thought
dangle and shuffle-
knock her off balance,

I like the above lines. "grocery bags of thought"-- there's a certain freshness to this phrase, and having the thought-bags dangle and sway the thinker-holder this way and that is an idea worth exporing. I suggest you expound on it. I'd very much read about that than "when all she fucking wants / is a little light to shine / on the ignorant". Starting from "it's all just so distracting", the piece becomes very angsty. Well, the subject itself is angsty, but it doesn't have to be rendered that way. So here's what I'd do: scrap stanzas 5-7. They contain nothing but platitudes about self-pity and inner turmoil. You have some very good images and phrases, as I noted earlier. Work with those and think about the progression of the poem. What should come first? The regret? Or the agent of regret (the love that "filters in" and so on)? How does placing one before the other serve the poem's purpose?

Hope my comments are somewhat useful. If not, feel free to ingore each and every one of them.

Thanks for posting this piece. I enjoyed considering it.
-- lace

Ahaha, thank you so much for your reply!! I really enjoyed it! ok, now word for word, I will see what I can get out of it;

Originally Posted by Lace

I'm liking the first stanza. I respond positively to the alliterative elements: "marinates"/"mutilates", "tooth"/"tongue", "covered/"content". Does "capricious" modify "face"? Or the one who owns the "doll face"? If the former, is "capricious" the best word to describe facial expressions and so forth? I mean, "capricious" is "erratic", so... erratic face? Hm, maybe. I guess a face could be subject to whims and what not-- a twisting of features, facial ticks or whatever. If the latter, then you'd need to rephrase so that the subject has a doll face and is capricious. "covered in her own content"-- very cool! I like "bottling in a thick regret" more than "that grows and mutates" because the former, though far from new and inventive, is very organic, whereas the latter is very mechanical. See, "bottling"-- its tactility-- gives me a framework for perceiving the abstraction of "regret". And "thick" helps.

Ok ok, in the first line 'doll face' I guess should have been quoted, it's more of a pet name than a literal. I was trying to communicate youth and innocence, and emphasize it with the adjective 'capricious' which I took in meaning impulsive. The word itself does not describe the face, which I understand now is a bit unclear, it is hard to really drive your full meaning home in such short sentences. I was trying to make the poem kind of like an explosion. Where emotions escalate and then just erupt. But anyways, Thank you for the encouragement and praise and forgive me while I work out the rest of your critique- I'm feeling a bit slow right now. xD

But every love that filters in
between the steel and
separated skin paralyzes solace;
drags it away, the discontent
that has become our
favorite friend.

"separated skin"-- how's the skin been separated and from what? "paralyzes solace"-- there's prettier ways of saying that. More concrete ways. A clear image to capture that idea.

Her skin is literally being separated, which is kind of what the preamble was about, I understand what you say about a poem needing to stand alone. But due to the huge amount of drama behind the subject particularly with my generation I really didn't want to post it without. But anyways, its a cut, or a wound. Her skin is being pulled apart by a razor... (idk, have you ever witnessed a surgery?) And I guess 'paralyzes solace' just really hit home with me. I mean, when you're in that situation, you become addicted to your discontent and that is your solace, any one who interferes with your pain becomes an immediate burden. The poem was not really supposed to be pretty, but exploitative. I wanted there to be a sort of slam essence in it. But I can understand that it is a sort of overused combination of words, and doesn't necessarily slip off the tongue. I'll see how much messing I can do with it within my comfort zone.

A lonesome world in which she
peers through the bars
to look at brown to
pink to white, fat and shiny
fading scars.
She waves goodbye to her
own arm.
And her knees.
And her shins.
And her wrists,
then sheds her skin.

I wouldn't describe the scars as both "shiny" and "fading". If they're fading, then they're not shiny. Fading denotes a loss in brightness. I very much like the idea of waving goodbye to one's body parts. There's something sharp, stark and fractured about it, and the syntax-- the sentence fragments, the enumeration-- reflects that.

It's funny, because as the scars fade they actually achieve a purple like sheen to them, than they become white. I guess you'd have to be in the situation to fully appreciate that. Maybe I should omit that, or focus on something else because the rest of the world can't really relate lol And thanks so much for your praise, it means a lot!!

But grocery bags of thought
dangle and shuffle-
knock her off balance,

I like the above lines. "grocery bags of thought"-- there's a certain freshness to this phrase, and having the thought-bags dangle and sway the thinker-holder this way and that is an idea worth exporing. I suggest you expound on it. I'd very much read about that than "when all she fucking wants / is a little light to shine / on the ignorant". Starting from "it's all just so distracting", the piece becomes very angsty. Well, the subject itself is angsty, but it doesn't have to be rendered that way. So here's what I'd do: scrap stanzas 5-7. They contain nothing but platitudes about self-pity and inner turmoil. You have some very good images and phrases, as I noted earlier. Work with those and think about the progression of the poem. What should come first? The regret? Or the agent of regret (the love that "filters in" and so on)? How does placing one before the other serve the poem's purpose?

I will back up the angst with my explosion theory explored in one of my above comments, lol. I felt like if I continued with the overwhelming thoughts thing, the poem would never end. I'm not into pages long poems haha. I do agree though, I have a thing with ending poems, and I would like to revisit the last stanza, I may continue the grocery bags thought into another stanza, and end with a different explosion of angst! lol But the explosion is needed. And both the regret and the 'agent of regret' as you call it are both very needed, as they really describe the plight and the inner workings of the practice of self mutilation.

Hope my comments are somewhat useful. If not, feel free to ingore each and every one of them.

They were incredibly useful, and of course I will not ignore them, that is the point of posting. Thanks again for taking the time to reply!

Thanks for posting this piece. I enjoyed considering it.
-- lace

by the way my replies are in the quote, sorry I am really stupid when it comes to this stuff haha

But every love that filters in
between the steel
and separated skin

To me the separated skin has a double meaning. Separated literally by the razor, knife, etc. and the metaphorical sense that someone with this problem would feel, like they are so far separated from other people, they exist in a 'separate skin', so to speak.

That is a good interpretation, Gumby. Especially considering that one of the most crucial repercussions of the act is living in the skin for the rest of your life.