poetry critical

online poetry workshop

Why I have to leave

I don’t want to be your second choice
I want to be the first
Person you think of when you wake up
I want to see the light
In your eyes when you see me
I want you to trace my body
And to hold me
But you can’t
And that’s fine
But that’s why I have to leave.
Because while I can see galaxies in your eyes
You can’t seem to find a single star in mine.

29 Jun 18

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oh unrequited love at it's worst.  the piece is fairly telling rather than showing but i get it.  I really love the last two lines.  

if this is about a guy, I'd say this to him:

"your galaxy may not be my tits, and that's fine; i have other stars to round out my mouth"
 — jenakajoffer

last two lines makes the poem. could equally be pebbles  to mountains
 — Rossant

here we go again showing and telling
The former works because its human
 — unknown

here we go again showing and telling
The latter  works because its human
 — unknown

yes, the telling part is the poetry part, because telling is told in your own voice, shaped by your brain and released by your body onto another body -- the poem's surface existing in nature. that only happens when you give away your ego and re-build your ego in a pure space -- writing out the poem in its pure wording space. but, that means you want to give something to the reader and not steal praise and attention. if this were written from the soul it would be illuminated by its own light and know how to finish as poetry.

not everyone needs to write a poem every time though. sometimes it's just about shaking off some mental and emotional dandruff.
 — cadmium

found the star right where u said it was
 — percocet

shall I take it?
 — percocet

no, I won't.
u live a life of smiles
 — percocet

I will suffer
 — percocet

can u suffer?
 — percocet

I want the people to be free to all externalities
 — percocet

starting a peom with, " I don't want to be your second choice," is hell to me. u-don't-care-or-know-better.
 — percocet

freedom is bane 2 u
 — percocet

u have no depth
 — percocet

wonderful title and poem.
 — Rossant