Slightly Broken

You reveal a considerable amount of your life and thoughts in your poetry. I will preface my comments about the poem by saying that feelings of self-worth can only come from within and not just from the support and praise of others, even those you love, or from self-harm, although from a professional viewpoint i know the latter does often provide a welcome but highly transient relief. But i do hope you also have friends who you can talk to and are not relying totally on exorcising your demons through poetry. As for the poem it has much to admire but I found myself wanting you to structure it for the reader so it achieved maximum impact. Imagine you are reading it out loud and try using line breaks, punctuation etc which allow us all to read it the same way. If you do that it could be really good. As for a few specifics: "trust-broken" (better hyphenated) "Words seem never to be enough, yet it’s the only solace as my trust slowly rots" since "words" is plural it would perhaps be better to change this to: "Words seem never to be enough, yet they are my only solace as trust slowly rots". "for just another forever lasting abrasion"..An abrasion is really a graze rather than the thin scar left from a blade. "Forever lasting" also sounds a little clumsy. How about something like "for just another lasting white-striped memory" (or red-striped) since you have already used scar at the beginning of the line. Happy to discuss if you wish. Keith

I loved the poem. I can relate ,I used to be a cutter and know that urge well.As for poetry-wise,the proff is right about the breaks and certain word uses to make it flow better.Great poem ,just needs some polishing. Lacy, Where power corrupts,poetry cleanses.

You write with your heart in your hand..these folks are right about the clean up..the only thing I could add is to write it..like you read it. stop... when you feel your desperation... make the reader feel it too. pause us with puctuation when we need to digest the picture.

you write with your heart and i really like that in writers. $DEY KNOW$

Take everything I say with that in mind. To me, even free form has a structure and normally it is the structure of conversation. Your poem has a lot going on and all of it is packed together too tightly, so tightly that it can overwhelm the reader and leave them uncertain where to go. I'm going to re-structure you poem with a couple of suggested word modifications, incorporating professors tense suggestion and moonman's punctuation notation. This is your work and I'd suggest you not take any suggestion verbatim as you alone know the flow and staccato you are looking to achieve. But here's a structure based on my reads of your poem. As I tremble before the keyboard, the right words seem to escape me. Betrayed by my best friends, left alone, left to be. Tears burn behind my eyes, while anger boils beneath my skin; I’ve expected not to trust strangers, friends even, but kin? So many wrongs flash across my lids; memories refuse to die. Only options are therapy cutting or to curl up and cry. Feeling quite worthless, as though I’m not worth good treatment. Is it really my fault; that I’m filled to the brim with resentment? Music seems to be the only thing that will stand by my side. It’ll cradle me, move me, speak to me, when all else has died. But it isn’t enough. When I’m craving the warmth of touch. Tired of being strong; holding off; wearing a face that’s tough. As these rhymes form inside my head, I want to run away. Into my room, imagine I’m dead. imagine I’ve nothing left to say. But the words keep pouring like a poisonous addiction. It’ll never be enough to dull the blows of their affliction. The rushing of my blood and the slight rising of my chest. If I had neither I’d never believe there was a heart beneath my breast. Straying completely from the path I had set myself; landing among the brush. A bitter trust-broken bitch, with dreams filled with faces and bones to crush. Trying too hard to explain exactly how I feel; stumbling over my own thoughts. Words seem never to be enough. yet they are the only solace as my trust slowly rots. Logic and respect slip through my fingers like icy water, leaving behind a tingling sensation. Finger the scars on my forearm, wishing to spill more blood, for just another forever (eternal?) lasting (delete?) abrasion So as my mind seems to forget the reason I began this dragging rhyme I decide that (delete) I’ll slip into my room, and find solace in the blade. . . one more time.

i really enjoyed it and can relate deeply to it espacially the part about music...your poem made me think of The Beach Boys song "I just wasn't meant for these times" a song i used to listen to alot...i look forward to reading more of your work musicguru

Yes. I liked it very much, even though it made me cry, and it takes allot to make me cry because I am a time-hardened abuse surviving bitch. Kin can be the worst betrayers of all. They are supposed to be the protectors not the perpetrators. This makes it that much more of a betrayal and an abomination. I do so understand the urge to cut, as I am an ex-self-injur(er) but my fingernails did the cutting for me instead of a razor blade or a knife. I used to dig and claw at myself and tear out my flesh. It started when I tried to dig out the cigarette burns on my arms, the scars that I didn't put there, were soon replaced by the ones I did. I have the scars to remind me of every betrayal and blow. I am on medication now and I don't often do this anymore. And when I do feel tempted by the urge (after a traumatic incident) I write... As you can see... your poem is so powerful that it brought up many memories in me. I can also relate to your lines about music because there were times that Bob Dylan and Tom Petty were my only friends. I think your poem is gut wrenching and brave. Always, Cat

Pugilist's restructuring of your poem made it far more readable and brings up a point about poetry. Often we write it to get something out, to release something inside--an emotion or experience or thought or what-have-you. I know it's like that for me. I've written hundreds. But are they poems then or just ejaculations, loads unburdened, baggage left behind? I would argue the latter. They only become poems, taking on lives of their own, after you step back from them, get outside of them, and craft the work rather than expelling it. The poem only begins with the first draft, and though the emotion is released, the poem has only been framed or sketched, has only just begun to sprout and grow. Pruning must follow. You have a gift for phrase and comparison, and I love your completely natural-sounding use of rhyme; it's just time to add a little polish. Great title, by the way.

Very apt my dear friend. I have been broken many times but not taken up to using cutters or substance. Just a heart full of pain and sorrow about how people use and abuse you and your feelings. I can relate to the dispair the anguish. I would not change a thing. You wrote from your heart your true feelings. As for me again trodden on but i cannot say why but i will not be defeated by others the problem is theres and i am a thorn in their sides. The let it be I know i am worth more i am a survivor again and again I do not know what keeps me here. But i have my writing my music my art photography etc and i put my love anger hurt into this so again in a circle i go around. But am i on the outside of the circle always looking in? In my job as an officer of the law i meet many in your situation and only hope i can give comfort advice friendship nerver ever turn anyone away i am always there to listen my friend. I think like Cat your are couragous to be able to write this down i do believe that writing it down gets it out of your system but the hurt never goes away the nightmares will always remain but fade now and again. We are here for you my dear friend. I hope you find some peace now and again.