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Jul 14, 2022
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MY LABEL
I brought to mother
A sticky yellowish substance
I found on my finger,
Digging itself into the middle-ear route
To roll the dice on the pain at dawn.
I took the pain to learn the holy word
At my elementary, I counted figures and letters
To raise my head higher,
But slowly I moved like a whelk in the circle,
When the stink drained from my earlobe
I never did too bad to all abuses,
Even when I couldn’t lay in my bed
I touched the scars she gave me
When I gave her what she didn’t ask me
Not knowing that it wasn’t a mistake.
About This Poem
Last Few Words: It's my stigma. As a result of a childhood accident, I'm hearing-impaired, but my parents and siblings didn't believe me. I was punished sometimes if I didn't hear what they said. This is my common say. "It's my cross."
Review Request Direction:
What did you think of my title?
How was my language use?
How does this theme appeal to you?
How was the beginning/ending of the poem?
Is the internal logic consistent?
Review Request Intensity: I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Editing Stage: Editing - rough draft
Comments
c lynn brooks
3 years ago
Hello
Your poem seems somewhat unclear as to where you wanted to go with it.