I can't even unpack the shit in these boxes
that swallow the floor space in my room.
I just think, what's the point of rediscovering?
I'll be leaving soon.
Can't stand to look at another picture
of a soul I no longer know and need dearly.
Can't listen to the songs that remind me
of a simpler time, the tones dried up and died.
But it's best not to rub salt in your own wounds
child, it's best not to.
That's what others are here for.
I've been playing it safe, a ghost in my own house
since the second I first fell out of love.
I don't take too many chances nowadays
not even with my face and mirror,
now obliterated, laughing its seven more years
of bad luck at me in sing-song-shatters.
I whipped my pillows and blankets off my bed
with a wet red face to avoid any familiar scent.
The winter's wheezing cough mimicks my own
and breathing's like a thousand pounds
of granite I have to lift off my chest.
And well I'm trying to get a good paying job,
trying to set myself straight,
quit drinking so much and living in adult pain.
And at the end of yesterday
I was as empty handed as I was when I woke,
I lit up a smoke and threw my casettes
out the window of my friends moving car.
I hate every note they hold in their
ribbon cluttered womb.
Comments
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Been a while, Kristin, since we've talked, so I'm glad I clicked onto this one. I like it, its almost trademark Synthian black-mood brushwork done up with a wry insouciance: yes, this is me, all wounds visible in that terrible, shattered mirror, but life is life - the constant travels of the heart and soul - and I'm strong enough to see what's nastily real and poeticize about it with a kind of distant flippancy. Fine writing, layered over with a smirking sadness.
What I like best, though, is the 'keep moving' tone, the acceptance of candid emotions, even "hate", plugging away at a vague desire for stability one day. This poem has, for me, a open youthfulness to it: a "trying" and wandering sense, yet filled with both negative and positive energy.
No suggestions on this one, K. It all works for me.
Later -
Lad -
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Hey, Lad :)
Yes, it has been a while since we've talked. I hope you are well.
Most of my poetry seems to have that 'Synthian black-mood' going on which is hardly done on purpose. I suppose that feeling is prevalent in actual life off of paper. Ever felt so stagnant and held back that you're just beyond the point of fed up? That's what I've been working to get rid of lately.
And you understood the outline of the poem and all that was in between the lines themselves. I aimed for a tone to come out in this, and thanks to you, feel that I've done that.
Thank you for your input, Lad!
Always a joy to hear from you.
Take care,
Kristin
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I've read this before, but the first time i did i wasn't really in the comprehending mind. This second visit made this poem clearer to me. The first two stanza gave this poem its transient feel. The boxes to be unpacked are left unpacked.The memories in them unwanted, for they would be like salt on an open wound. Looking into memories have two effects, either we re-experience the pain or we realize we are over it. Though to discover that, does require risk, doesn't it. So, yes, its best to take time.
The part of the poem where the title is mentioned gives this poem is darkness. Its not a very dark poem, more melancholic than anything, but the idea that the current state of things seems to be a laughing joke by a broken mirror giving its 7 year curse. The use of the superstition at this part of the poem was effective.
This particular stanza:
"And well I'm trying to get a good paying job,
trying to set myself straight,
quit drinking so much and living in adult pain."
Got me. It was powerful. I think its the ending...the living in adult pain that made this poem for me. Yes, as an adult it seems we have to deal with the real pain. Being an adult seems to beg us to stop running. Or more aptly maturity demands that of us. Since adulthood is but an age.
The last two stanza confirms the transient theme. The idea of being in a car and throwing the cassette and its ribbon cluttered womb confirmed that the 'i' in the poem is heading somewhere and no longer lingering. That i suppose gives this poem the light to balance out the dark. Interesting poem Synth. It makes me think of a seesaw.
-iphios
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Hey, phige. It's lovely to hear from you. It has been too long since we've chatted. Unfortunately, I've been kept away from any means of contact with the online world as of late. And with that said, I do hope you are well.
As for the poem, I'm glad that the second time read helped clear things up for you. And as usual, you seem to have no trouble grasping every point I intended to get across.
In life, there's a lot of moving around. Whether it's in the literal sense like it is here (switching from one house you've grown attached to, to another) or in the non-literal sense of just feeling like you're an emotional nomad, always moving from place to place and taking the endless memories with you. I suppose this is really a combination of both, come to think of it.
The concept of adult pain is new to me. I've been told I'm an old soul but an eternal child and I'd really like to stick to only one. Being both drains the soul altogether.
Either way or both ways, it's the kind of pain I take with a wince, having to remember any of this at all. I would like to write poems that do not contain this but it is only a reflection of what's really going on in my mind, the things I don't bring up in conversations. I've become quite closed as of late, odd for my Gemini ways. Writing has turned into a sort of secret place I can go, so I don't bring the burden onto my hometown friends in casual conversation. These feelings just wouldn't fit the context of one.
I did intend the seven year curse to be almost laughable, which I consider to be the most lighthearted part of the entire poem. But it's more of a snake-like humour, if you get what I mean. I'm sure you do. Positive, actually.
Anyway, enough of my ramblings. Thank you for reading, commenting, and understanding.
I look forward to speaking with you sometime soon, hopefully later tonight or tomorrow. I do miss your words.
Cat.
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