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Literature Text
they say Van Gogh
used to eat yellow paint
so that he could get
the happiness inside of him.
sometimes,
especially on nights like this,
I wonder if that would work.
I wonder if the pigment
would seep into my intestines:
would spread through my veins
like an elixir:
would curl and coil and cast
brilliant light
on every angle, every aspect
of my body.
I wonder if endless trials
and retrials of drugs
could be replaced by the
occasional dose of cadmium,
lead-and-oil pick-me-up,
liquid sunshine, intangible dream
I swear I can almost
taste.
I wonder if it would do
nothing more
than make me sick,
curled up on the bathroom floor
and left choking on a life
that I can never have.
used to eat yellow paint
so that he could get
the happiness inside of him.
sometimes,
especially on nights like this,
I wonder if that would work.
I wonder if the pigment
would seep into my intestines:
would spread through my veins
like an elixir:
would curl and coil and cast
brilliant light
on every angle, every aspect
of my body.
I wonder if endless trials
and retrials of drugs
could be replaced by the
occasional dose of cadmium,
lead-and-oil pick-me-up,
liquid sunshine, intangible dream
I swear I can almost
taste.
I wonder if it would do
nothing more
than make me sick,
curled up on the bathroom floor
and left choking on a life
that I can never have.
Literature
People are not medicine
I will thaw out my
frozen ice box of a chest
for you
I will pump and resurrect
the dead tissues
so I can write about you
I will write about your
drug store Romeo smile
and the way you
hold your hands behind
your head like its the only
thing that will stop it
from rolling off your shoulders
I will write about the way
your eyes crinkle in the corners
and the way your dimples are uneven
when you laugh
I will write about the
tiny vampire footprints
you leave on my skin at night
when we're sat outside
on the sidewalk
contemplating Aristotle and Cobain
Like bleary eyed philosophers
I will write about the way
your fingers flex when you're exc
Literature
Before I Can Become a Writer
Develop insomnia. Develop
problems with substance abuse,
nothing serious, but enough
that I can say “write drunk,
edit sober” and mean it.
Drink tea. Write about drinking
tea. Take up smoking, ignore
the thoughts about it being
a slower suicide. Write about
suicide. Don’t mean it.
Write about sunsets and
ink veins. Mean it.
Fall in love with someone
who will never love me back.
Lament. Write a million
crappy poems and two good
ones. Never show him.
Move on. Write a few more
bad poems. Fall in love with
someone perfect. Screw it up.
Fall in love with someone awful.
Call him perfect. Screw it up.
Cry. Cry for the inevitab
Literature
Dear Poetry,
You will find out that I am not a strong person. Dragons do not make a home beneath my skin to hoard their treasured princesses. I am not that lucky. For I have misplaced collarbones just as quickly as I’ve misplaced hearts, a pulse still rhythmic against my fingertips. I am a monster of words, devouring Cummings and Plath with no ounce of self control left in my body. I promised myself this weight would not fall for the sharp edges of stars ground into your knuckles. But, write air into my lungs, poetry. Give this wild thing a reason to learn the definition of tamed.
Write me a poem, and I will promise to fall in love with you, sl
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this one's been rattling around in my brain for a while.
I've rewritten the ending a few times because I want it to have some serious emotional impact... thoughts? is it effective?
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Comments47
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Overall Vision Originality Technique ImpactFirst off, if I didn't say this before, let me say this again; I FRAKING LOVE THIS PIECE, and not just because it uses my favorite painter as the opening line. I've seen people try an attempt to use Van Gogh and his paint ingesting in poems before, but you're the only one I've read that pulled it off beautifully.
Okay, now on to the rest of the critique.
There were a few parts where I got tripped up because of the way you worded the sentence. A few examples are:
they say Van Gogh
used to eat yellow paint
so that he could get
the happiness inside of him.
I don't know if it's just me, but the way the second half of the sentence is worded confused me for a second, when you said: "so that he could get/the happiness inside of him." There might be a way to word this better, but that's up to you. I could really be the only one tripped up by that.
The only other part that tripped me up because of the wording was:
could be replaced by the
occasional dose of cadmium,
lead-and-oi pick-me-up,
liquid sunshine, intangible dream
I swear I can almost
taste.
Again, it was only the second half that tripped me up, and that might just be because of the run-on that you created. If you did that on purpose, I apologize for being stupid. <img src="e.deviantart.net/emoticons/x/x…" width="15" height="15" alt="
" data-embed-type="emoticon" data-embed-id="93" title="XD"/>The last thing I have to say is that there were a few places where your line breaks could have been done differently to give a bit more impact, imo.
I wonder if the pigment would
seep into my intestines:
would spread through my veins
like an elixir:
would curl and coil and cast
could be changed into
I wonder if the pigment
would seep into my intestines:
would spread through my veins
like an elixir:
would curl and coil and cast
But again, that's just my opinion. And whatever you decide to do with it, I will still think that it is brilliant and it will remain one of my favorite poems on this site. <img src="e.deviantart.net/emoticons/h/h…" width="15" height="13" alt="
" data-embed-type="emoticon" data-embed-id="357" title="Heart"/>Caitlan
For Critmas