poetry critical

online poetry workshop

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Welcome!

Welcome to Poetry Critical, an online poetry workshop. To post your own poetry you'll need to create a user id by typing a name and password in the box above and hitting 'New User'. If you just want to critique or jump into the discussion, however, you can go ahead and get started!

Random Poem:

Part II (Bravery)
astrophel

i was fifteen when the word
 1
"brave" adopted a new meaning.
 2
i woke up to my mother calling,
 3
a yell over the answering
 4
machine and it was time. i
 5
suited into sweat pants and
 6
a vest. i armed myself with
 7
exacto-blades and a survival
 8
knife.
 9
 
 
she used to need to tell me
 10
that they were bad men trying
 11
to hurt her. but by now, she
 12
gave all that up. she'd just
 13
tell me that it was my duty
 14
or responsibility. that it
 15
was all part of growing up
 16
to protect my mother from
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harm.
 18
 
 
twenty minutes later found
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me outside a building still
 20
being constructed and our
 21
contractors staring us down.
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three plus the father glaring
 23
at me, as if i was the problem.
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i don't remember who acted
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first. or how it happened, i
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just remember being afraid
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and noticing one of them
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reaching for a gun. you're
 29
supposed to form sort of an
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X with your hands while
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simultaneously dipping your
 32
body and reaching up with
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your hands to first tilt
 34
the barrel away and then
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attempt the snatch- tossing
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it away to this field and
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kicking him in the head. his
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eyes fluttered while he fell,
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and i remember the fear of
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that moment. speaking to
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myself that i was just doing
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what needed to be done and
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anyone would have done the
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same.
 45
 
 
i felt big, back then. but i'd
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say to myself at night, though
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that it'd all go away when i
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woke up. that i wouldn't have
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to fight. and i'd roll myself
 50
onto my side soaking the other
 51
side of the pillow. never finding
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the cold spot to rest my head
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on.
 54
 
 
today, i lay awake at night,
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flipping my pillow, talking
 56
out loud to myself about how
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in the morning, the sun will
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still rise; that i dont
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have to do a thing - but even
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in the warmth of solitude,
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in my exiled existence i still
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fear.
 63

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