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Confessional
I'm a spendthrift
and a hack
and I don't need you
to contradict me on that.
I remember when Self Esteem
was so important to me.
But now the door closes
and I shut it all out,
because if I don't
I'll drive myself mad.
And man, I wish I was mad.
And I wish it would all go away.
I can trace my failures all the way back
to every bad decision, choice, and failure I remember.
Therapists are useless
for the kind of depression
that becomes a part of you,
baked in so much that it becomes your abiding flavor.
I really feel -
and have felt
like I've hit the end of my line.
Like many young men
I looked for meaning
in career, family, home, and church.
I even looked for it
in the pleasure of food
and poetry
and the company of many fine women.
But have you ever felt like the world has passed you by?
And I realize that this must be an eventuality.
I suppose it happens to everyone,
even if some people don't notice it.
How much better it must be for them
I imagine.
What am I doing here?
"What are you doing here, Elijah?"
the Lord asked the prophet
while he was running for his life.
I wonder if he, like me,
didn't have a clue.
Style / type:
Structured: Western
Review Request (Intensity):
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Review Request (Direction):
What did you think of my title?
How was my language use?
What did you think of the rhythm or pattern or pacing?
How does this theme appeal to you?
How was the beginning/ending of the poem?
Is the internal logic consistent?
Editing stage:
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Comments
riotface97
Tue, 2017-12-19 04:15
Hi Conect11,
Thanks for the read, gave me goosebumps towards the end and the piece as a whole had a fantastic sense of openness and honesty. The sections that really stood out for me were,
"And man, I wish I was mad." and the 7th and final stanza. There are real moments (in my humble opinion) of brilliance here. If I could give any feedback it would be that the rhyming in the first stanza comes across as slightly jarring in comparison to the rest of the piece. I also think the 6th stanza ("therapists are useless") also feels a little out of place in that it reads as more of an objective mediation on depression whereas the voice in the rest of the poem comes across as quite personal (to its merit).
You write extremely well and I really connected to this piece. If the work is in any way representative of the truth, I just want to offer that you have the gift of being able to create something which connects with another on a level more fundamental than everyday conversation may allow. This may not seem like much, and such a gift often goes unrecognized, especially in the climate of today. But recognition has never been synonymous with worth and to me, such a gift is truly wonderful, and perhaps even something for which to live.
All the best,
Nicholas.