Oh wow, forgotten on the countertop, hiding in plain view. I thought your last poem was great, this is fcuking spectacular. Why wasn't this nominated or won a contest wth? I guess we can go deeper.
The brutal honesty of the duality of both the storyteller and the object is fcuking bold, like yelling in a crowd and stating your love without remorse or second thoughts. And besides the gore or the intertwining relationship of cause and effect, the relationship between the one who confesses and the one who has to die for that confession, marks the irreversible flow of love for the killer and the victim. Like a special connection that no one else would know, unless you confess it. That's how I see this poem, a confession of love and hate between yourself, non-existent to others (hiding in plain view but still alive) yet vibrant and alive when you are dead (those ideas and thoughts connected to the emotionality of the narrative never takes fruition.) The conflicted raw emotions of everything you want to tell, but no-one to tell it to, is like trying to be a human in a mannequin body: you have a soul crying out in a lifeless body.
I'm truly amazed and utterly jealous. But I am also conflicted and would like to know who the storyteller really is? I have another theory about that. I'm probably wrong.
Your last three lines,
Perhaps in another story, we shall forget her
like she never even existed in the first place.
She never even existed in the first place.
Marks a deep and intriguing clue that not only this confession is actually a love letter, but the hatred of being scorned or not being loved back haunts you and makes you obsess over your soon to be victim of love. You want her to love you back and she doesn't know these feelings you have for her, like she never existed in your love story at all. So you cut her out from the narrative that resembles the struggle you have now. You deny the possibility of you and her like taking an eraser (sword) to the words that once burned and imbued in your heart. Abandon her before she ever abandons you...
Reminds me of one of Amy Lee's greatest song she ever made in the late 90s, solitude by evanescence. Whether this is true or not, just like the song, this poem is fcuking brilliant either way.
You mentioned another story, and I love stories that continues, so I implore you to continue this tragic love story, I want to know why the victim didn't love the storyteller if that theory is correct? It even can be a simple ab initio or media res, but raw emotions will make the rest of your poems stand out. So make it raw. Is it because she isnt bi, does she already have a boyfriend/girlfriend? Is the storyteller even in the victims life, or maybe the storyteller is but just from a distance? Make everyone believe these love stories, like no one has believed before.
Firstly, I am over the moon that this reminded you of Solitude. I used to listen to that band everyday when I was younger. Still do whenever I find myself in a dark place (figuratively hah).
I enjoyed reading your interpretations. Originally what I intended was that the storyteller = "she". But perhaps a younger version of herself, a past self who isn't representative of the storyteller at present which is why we can say that "she" may never even have existed in the first place. Thank you for your comments and kind words. Very much appreciated.
10 months ago
"The pieces of the puzzle fit
but the picture tells a different story."
You start this poem off with honesty, which sets the tone to be a 'confessionary' style poem, which is interesting and welcomed. It's equal parts cryptic and beautiful, it definitely enthralls the reader into the poem.
"This time I am holding the sword
instead of the pen."
An interesting take on the old adage 'the pen is mightier than the sword'; it opens up the possibility that the speaker is lying which contradicts (or supports, depending on how you interpret it) the beginning stanza. I doubt that's what you're going for, but it's interesting to note that perspective (or 'picture') exists. It's much more likely that you meant the speaker opted for brute force to change something as opposed to the usage of a pen.
"She's dead, dear poet
and not in the way that you
and I would have imagined."
Building on from what I said earlier, the poem's delving deeper into a confessionary style, and setting it up for a confession that the speaker killed herself or (whoever 'her' is). It's also interesting to note the repetitive nature of '...not in the way that you...imagined' which is similar to the beginning of this poem, it's offering another perspective which the speaker is stating to be true, and well the other perspectives are inconsequential since 1) we don't know what they are, 2) this is the speaker's poem.
"In the end, she didn't kill herself
like she said she probably would.
I killed her, dear poet.
I slit her throat
then stitched her back up
in places where the truth
I enjoyed the visuals of this, it's poe-esque vaguely similar (in terms of imagery) to 'Berenice', also reminded me of a certain scene from hannibal the tv show, not sure if you're familiar with it, but there's a scene where a person had cut open a person to place a bird in there, and then placed the corpse into a mare. If I remember correctly, he had found her dead body and was trying to resurrect her, it's implied that he had developmental problems, he spoke softly with a stutter, was extremely shy and had an affinity for animals. Anyways, sorry for the tangent, the imagery is really interesting to say the least.
"Here is my confession
so you can stop searching
in all the wrong places now."
I cannot help but question whether we should accept the speaker's statement without any doubts, but thus far the speaker has been brazenly honest (as far as we, the readers, know lol). I think this is the peak of the poem, this was the confession that the speaker wanted to share with us and worked their way towards, whether it was the speaker finding the courage to do so, or felt that context was necessary is irrelevant given the magnitude of the confession.
"Take my hand and
I'll lead you to where I laid her scythic body to rest.
We'll stand at the edge of a windy cliff,
over a stone
with her name etched
by careless hands:
the exact same way she lived her life."
I love the usage of 'sycthic body', as well as the imagery that is built up in here, it's laden with it as if the speaker felt it was necessary to bring the reader along for further verification as opposed to having them accept the truth that 'she' was killed in the previous stanza.
"I apologise because in this story
you can no longer turn her eyes
into a forest of poetry
for they have blackened
in the same way that fruit does
when it becomes far too sweet;
on the countertop."
I love 'forest of poetry' and the idea of fruit becoming saccharine and then rotting away, fitting imagery that ties in with 'her' death. I'm hanging on the verse '...same way the fruit does/when it becomes far too sweet', it seems pivotal to this narrative/confession. It might be reflective of 'her' personality.
"Perhaps in another story, we shall forget her
like she never even existed in the first place.
She never even existed in the first place."
An interesting note to end in, it feels similar to the beginning of the poem in the sense that the speaker offers another perspertive/picture in addition to whatever the reader had originally assumed, and this time it offers a new beginning (atleast, that what it feels like to me). This poem is extremely interesting, there's a lot of nuances in here that I appreciated, I almost felt like I shouldn't have commented on this piece because it felt extremely personal (and I hope you don't mind that I ignored that feeling, and went ahead anyways). Thank you for sharing this :)
Thank you! I always love reading your feedback. Very insightful, usually spot on. And yes, this is another one of those pieces with the concept of "killing" oneself (or at least a part of the self) in order to grow.
My...my...this is a write that made me think and wanting more!
It has mystery and a haunting feel to keep the reader hooked to each
line, each verse....though the title was interesting and simple and it
gave me an impression about something else!