Meg, these poems are awesome! They stand on their own, speaking clearer than most people do to me. Great work :3
Dear Asshole, How are you? Good to hear. Are you the same? Here, I'll explain: Did you grow up some? Good to hear. Now let me ask you: Do you still think I'm an idiot? You do? You still think I'm a waste of life and not worth your time? You do? So sorry, but you haven't grown up. Keep trying. And when you get your head out of your ass Let me know. I'll be in the library. Sincerely, Meghan
I haz kweschun, if you don't mind answering (and if you'd rather not, then that's ok) - do you base your poetry on personal experiences or do you write "in character", as it were? I find that sort of thing interesting, you see.
Personal experiences. The Dear Asshole one isn't based on an actual event, it's just me imagining what it would be like to talk to all the....well assholes I went to high school with again.
In that case, it makes it all the more interesting to me, especially your first poem. I'm always fascinated to see how people vary in their creative expressions of certain events, shall we say. I admire that you put it into that style...it's a little unusual to see when one tends to find a more...how shall I put it?...angry approach to the subject matter. I always like to find out where inspiration comes from because it tends to make the writing all the more poignant and emphatic.
Um....thank you? Well, yeah I'm a sexual assault survivor. I mean when I say I'm over it though. The kid apologized a couple years later and we got along pretty well after that. I haven't seen him in a few years though. I guess you could say the anger in the poem was directed at the situation (that women have to carry around safety whistles) and not at any one in particular.
Hehe - didn't mean to confuse you, if I did. As a former survivor (first time I've used that word for it) myself, I always find it interesting to read about others' reactions and interpretations. I didn't see anger in your poem, really (I meant more that others tend to write more angrily whereas yours wasn't like that), it seemed more kind of like, "and what the hell is a whistle going to do?" sort of thing. That was my interpretation anyways although it was probably not what you meant. Either way, you got an apology - that's more than most get.
SURVIVORS UNITE! And there is some anger in the poem, but I meant it to be subtle next to the sheer depressing crap of it all. Yeah.
Racing Thoughts Hands slipping Out of Tune Why? Why can't I control myself Why does my heart pound out Of my chest Like I'm being attacked Why am I so upset That I can't write as fast As my racing thoughts? Why can't I focus Where is this coming from Why does this happen Why can't I sleep? Mommy save me I can't control myself I need to run To scream To burn this energy before I Explode I want calm To be truly calm No more anxiety That holds me close All day Every day Refusing to let me go Stop please Let me go And let me crawl Into this bed And sleep Like I so desperately Need
I wrote these two poems one right after the other: Welcome I used to say "Come on in Make yourself at home" I would stand there With my welcome sign Waving like the child I was Anyone could come Bring your friends Then it hit me I wasn't the welcome sign I was the welcome mat Getting stomped on Dirt, mud, and grass Smeared on my face But that was then Now I'm a door An iron door that's locked From the inside And no one outside has the key That stays with me And none of you will get it But why not? You'll abuse it Force your way in Make a wreck And then leave Never. Again. From now on It will be me, myself, and I And the three of us are enough You can stay away He/she/it won't get in I'm not welcoming anymore People can lie so well A smile can seem so real I'm not even trying anymore Just stay outside Trust's done nothing for me So no, you're not welcome ------ Silence Why is it so hard To say how you feel? Why is it so hard To open your mouth And tell your friend What's bothering you? Why can't I speak? Why do I feel like The needle and thread I used to try to fix my pants Has closed my mouth instead? Why am I crying? Why does silence hurt so much When you're the one keeping yourself Silent? I have the power to speak But I take that power from me Every time I sit there Amongst people who will understand And say nothing Why should my identity be a crime? Why should my beliefs be punished? Why am I doing this to myself? Enough. Bring on tonight. I will speak.