My Struggle

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Poet
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My Struggle

Post by Poet » Tue Jun 23, 2020 5:34 am

Please don’t hurt me! I am just a man
You toss me in a mental hospital like i
was nothing but scrap food.
How dare you, you threw me to a ward
and got me freaking out and running
around the halls asking for help.
I hate you, you put me to die!
You put me to suffer in the hands of white
The white light covers me through white
hands, porcelain and not to be messed with.
These hands have seen death before
I’ve tried to kill myself many times
about forty-six times, how scary is that?
The room is a bright red and yellow.
Red like the blood of my people.
You took everything away from me
by putting me in a chair and sliding
it through the chicken breast smelling
halls and apple juice.
Every hall I passed by was frightening!
They had patients jerking in their beds
and some moaning for help.
It’s something I’d never forget
I hope you can learn that I am at
least someone to care about.
Or at least care about the fact
that you pierced my heart
and soul through this madness.

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springchic1979
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Re: My Struggle

Post by springchic1979 » Sun Aug 02, 2020 10:21 pm

You manage to voice the anger and turmoil quite well. You also bring the senses into it...certain smells (chicken & apple juice), images (patients jerking in their beds), sounds (moaning for help). It does make me (as a reader) experience the situation with you.

There are just a couple things I have questions about.

Have you considered making the beginning of line 4 a separate line all by itself for more of an impact?
How dare you, you threw me to a ward
to
How dare you!
You threw me into a ward ...


There was also a line I didn't understand (incomplete thought or sentence?)
You put me to suffer in the hands of white
white what? ...white coat doctors?

And lastly I got kind of confused in this part :
The white light covers me through white
hands, porcelain and not to be messed with.
These hands have seen death before
I’ve tried to kill myself many times
When you say These hands have seen death before are you referring to the hands mentioned above that line (the porcelain hands) or your own hands which have tried to kill you many times? Though I *think* you are referring to the 'white hands' it is put in the same sentence as the writer who is referring to himself...so hopefully you understand my confusion.

All in all great write, though not a place I would like to visit!
respectfully,
YDS

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Re: My Struggle

Post by Poet » Mon Aug 03, 2020 8:32 am

Thanks and when I meant white coat doctors, yes, and yes I wanted to say these hands have experienced death before. I wasn't a fan of this poem because it is way too melodramatic.

TrevorConway
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Re: My Struggle

Post by TrevorConway » Tue Aug 04, 2020 8:27 am

Hi Poet,

I agree that it's too melodramatic. Removing exclamation marks should help counteract that, as well as going for more description rather than forcing the tone. Example:

Just a man, tossed
in a hospital as if [Leave the detail that it's a mental hospital for a bit later, thus giving a feeling of development as the poem progresses]
nothing more than a scrap of food.
In this ward, the patients are running,
shouting, screaming for help.

White light through white hands...

All the best,

T

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Re: My Struggle

Post by beautifulloser » Tue Sep 29, 2020 4:12 pm

Hi there,

I won't bore you with my own struggle trying to write poems. It's been an arduous task littered with failure. So, please understand I'm coming from a positive and constructive place with this crit.

This poem is artless. It doesn't even have craft. That's not a bad thing. It's a useful thing to face up to. Please hear me out:

Why is it artless?

The title immediately brought to mind 'mein kampf'. Is the opening line meant to be ironic? Judging by the rest of the poem this appears to be a genuine outpouring of grief and suffering. I sympathise and feel for you. That is life, unfortunately. Christ on the cross, passion through transcendence and all of that bollocks. I'm not religious in any way but you can't fault the art and architecture it's generated.

Read this: https://mywordinyourear.com/2018/10/12/wuthering-heights-sylvia-plath-analysis/

'Limpid as the solitudes
That flee through my fingers.'

Poetry is a form of address. You are too in your head. Keep yourself, your subject and the audience at an equidistance. Transfer your feelings via the world.

Why doesn't it have craft?

Your syllable count is all over the place. There's no music.... no alliertation, assonance, rhyme or internal rhyme.

The enjambment here is prosaic and dull:

You toss me in a mental hospital like i
was nothing but scrap food.

It's obvious you do not read that much poetry. READ, READ, READ. It is the best use of time - you'll not only find solace but plenty of inspiration.

Good luck and keep at it.

x
I'm sick of it, sick of it all. I know I'm right and I don't give a shit!

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