There was a time when I was dealing with some pretty heavy stuff. My father's death, infertility, STUFF! And back then, I wrote some really bad poetry.
Oh, ish. Yeah. It was bad.
So bad that I'm going to share a couple with you! Don't you feel lucky?!?
I wouldn't either. Don't worry, I'll spare you from the really depressing stuff. Not even the Ty-man has read any of that.
First up is this little gem:
Red liquid burns my tongue,
dry and full of dust.
We smell tendrils of blood like a
summer bouquet,
as if minutes and hours are days.
Did I mention I also went through an Anne Rice phase? Um, yeah.
OK, secondly:
My soul has many doors,
many windows.
Through them I open and
close myself.
I look in and out.
Sometimes I am a stranger,
wondering who this strange
girl is, trying to act so
mature.
She is just playing dress-up
until someone discovers
her ploy,
And tells her to take off
the make-up.
I'll bet you need to take a bath now, right? Me, too.
Who Am I?
- Coal Miner's Granddaughter
- I am the 40-ish granddaughter of Frank (see header), a fiddle-playing coal miner from West Virginia. I was born and raised in said state and have lived in Georgia since 1994. I have a wonderful husband, three beautiful kids, one cranky cat, and one anxiety-ridden dog.
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Confessions of a Coal Miner's Granddaughter by Coal Miner's Granddaughter is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 United States License.
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14 comments:
Wow! I have no words!
No worries, I went through a highly emotional phase once and wrote bad poetry. I guess we all do at some point!
The trick is to recognise when it is bad, and not to inflict too much of it on others. LOL!
Actually, I've read a lot worse than yours. By which I mean both 'large quantities' of worse poetry and 'poetry which is far less worthy of the name'. ;)
I had a particularly turbulent phase in my adolescence in when I wrote and drew and scribbled my angst onto the blank pages of one of those blank books. It was very therapeutic.
I particularly liked this line of yours, "She is just playing dress-up." That's a pretty accurate feeling that most people have after a death, like you are just going through the motions, putting on a good face.
God bless you... Peace - D
I've never written poetry as an outlet. Unless limericks count.
I went through the Anne Rice phase myself. Though I read the Mayfair Wwitch series and the majority of the Vampire Chronicles, my favorite book by her was 'A Cry to Heaven'. If you haven't read it, I highly recommend it.
I love poetry. Especially when it is a thoughtful expression of how someone feels at that certain point in their life. I hope you share more.
That's not bad. It's real. It's raw. It reflects how you felt at the time, and for that reason alone makes it worth keeping. Thanks for posting it.
I agree with NATUI. I don't really see poetry as good or bad...who's to judge?! It definitely shows where you were in your life...and I can relate to the playing dress up bit. Been there.
At least it's not rhyming poetry? ;)
It's not bad!
I think most poetry is very personal - what speaks to one person may not be heard by the next.
I did the same thing - I always journaled more when I was depressed. I think your poetry outshines mine - no doubt. I also think it's much better than you think it is!
Aside from that ... you've got cajones to share it with the world. I won't even let my hubby read my stuff. (Not that he'd want to ... :) )
P.S. I LOOOOOVED your political post - I was just lazy and didn't comment until now.
What's so bad? I think lots of people, admit it or not, have written poetry to deal with one thing or another. I agree with lori-you've got some serious cojones to put those on here...
I don't think the second one is bad.
I went through a poetry phase in high school and sent my poems away to try and get them published, I thought maybe I would make a living as a poet. Not a single one ever got accepted. Fortunately I go through periodic purges of old stuff and I believe that these 'poems' are long gone!
I love it, both of them. Thanks for sharing!
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