Please review my poem!?

Question

I see lines everywhere
I’m sure they are positively
The most
Brilliant signs of God’s divinity
God’s
Creativity
Making lines like
The one
That divides the Earth from Sun
The ones
On the paper, red and blue
Before I write
Adding gray
When I’m done
People can make lines too
Waiting, Marching
Dancing, Running
We make lines
Mostly
To create order
Mostly
He makes lines
To create
Beauty
Mostly
Oh and by the by,
I found a way
To remove a little bit
Of the gray
With lines,
The most striking lines
You may ever see
I have made
Lines of crimson
Cutting flesh from flesh
My blood beads
As the lines appear
Growing a little bit fuller
More appear one by one
I love the sound they make
Like tearing paper after a mistake
Not many lines can make sounds
I know I have enough lines
To make me happy
When they get to talkative
When they start to burn and itch
Sending angry messages
To the hairs
On the other side of my arm
They tell those hairs to be straight
The ribbon of horizontal lines
On my vertical arm
Are straight,
Happy lines
More sensual than trails of tears
More awful than gridlock
But
Less flashy than rainbows
Lines
I can make
With a little pressure
I can take
My life with
Those lines
But I don’t need to go deeper
I don’t need to die
I just need a few more lines
To make me happy
To live another day
So I can greet the Sun
And the Earth
As they sit
Jealous
That I can live
Between the lines

-Not actually a cutter- XD but saying this will kind of destroy the ambiance of the peice. And to the lady who said it didn't flow like a poem should: HAHAHA! You inexperienced child, you. You wouldn't know good poetry if it bit you in the batootie! It's called free verse. However, I did mangage to put some rhyme in there. It's supposed to be scattered. Not all poems have to be good. Poe, an excellent poet, was almost always morbid. I think expressing human emotion this way is extremely beautiful and I'm sorry you can't see that!

-Not actually a cutter- XD but saying this will kind of destroy the ambiance of the peice. And to the lady who said it didn't flow like a poem should: HAHAHA! You inexperienced child, you. You wouldn't know good poetry if it bit you in the batootie! It's called free verse. However, I did mangage to put some rhyme in there. It's supposed to be scattered. Not all poems have to be happy. Poe, an excellent poet, was almost always morbid. I think expressing human emotion this way is extremely beautiful and I'm sorry you can't see that!

AHAHAHA Drew you're hilarious. I know Poe was a terrible poet, but do you think that girl would know any better? I liked his poem Alone, but you're very right, his stories are much better. I don't usually write emo poems, and it hurts my feelings that you think I'm unorigional. I usually write about God and men, and it is nice that you pointed out that you liked that part. I'm sorry the poem wasn't to your liking. But hah, like I care. =^-^=

Answer 1

You've written some excellent lines (so to speak.)
It reminds me of this one, which you may enjoy:
"Amy Lowell - Patterns

I walk down the garden paths,
And all the daffodils
Are blowing, and the bright blue squills.
I walk down the patterned garden-paths
In my stiff, brocaded gown.
With my powdered hair and jewelled fan,
I too am a rare
Pattern. As I wander down
The garden paths.
My dress is richly figured,
And the train
Makes a pink and silver stain
On the gravel, and the thrift
Of the borders.
Just a plate of current fashion,
Tripping by in high-heeled, ribboned shoes.
Not a softness anywhere about me,
Only whalebone and brocade.
And I sink on a seat in the shade
Of a lime tree. For my passion
Wars against the stiff brocade.
The daffodils and squills
Flutter in the breeze
As they please.
And I weep;
For the lime-tree is in blossom
And one small flower has dropped upon my bosom.
And the plashing of waterdrops
In the marble fountain
Comes down the garden-paths.
The dripping never stops.
Underneath my stiffened gown
Is the softness of a woman bathing in a marble basin,
A basin in the midst of hedges grown
So thick, she cannot see her lover hiding,
But she guesses he is near,
And the sliding of the water
Seems the stroking of a dear
Hand upon her.
What is Summer in a fine brocaded gown!
I should like to see it lying in a heap upon the ground.
All the pink and silver crumpled up on the ground.
I would be the pink and silver as I ran along the
paths,
And he would stumble after,
Bewildered by my laughter.
I should see the sun flashing from his sword-hilt and the buckles
on his shoes.
I would choose
To lead him in a maze along the patterned paths,
A bright and laughing maze for my heavy-booted lover,
Till he caught me in the shade,
And the buttons of his waistcoat bruised my body as he clasped me,
Aching, melting, unafraid.
With the shadows of the leaves and the sundrops,
And the plopping of the waterdrops,
All about us in the open afternoon --
I am very like to swoon
With the weight of this brocade,
For the sun sifts through the shade.
Underneath the fallen blossom
In my bosom,
Is a letter I have hid.
It was brought to me this morning by a rider from the Duke.
"Madam, we regret to inform you that Lord Hartwell
Died in action Thursday se'nnight."
As I read it in the white, morning sunlight,
The letters squirmed like snakes.
"Any answer, Madam," said my footman.
"No," I told him.
"See that the messenger takes some refreshment.
No, no answer."
And I walked into the garden,
Up and down the patterned paths,
In my stiff, correct brocade.
The blue and yellow flowers stood up proudly in the sun,
Each one.
I stood upright too,
Held rigid to the pattern
By the stiffness of my gown.
Up and down I walked,
Up and down.
In a month he would have been my husband.
In a month, here, underneath this lime,
We would have broke the pattern;
He for me, and I for him,
He as Colonel, I as Lady,
On this shady seat.
He had a whim
That sunlight carried blessing.
And I answered, "It shall be as you have said."
Now he is dead.
In Summer and in Winter I shall walk
Up and down
The patterned garden-paths
In my stiff, brocaded gown.
The squills and daffodils
Will give place to pillared roses, and to asters, and to snow.
I shall go
Up and down,
In my gown.
Gorgeously arrayed,
Boned and stayed.
And the softness of my body will be guarded from embrace
By each button, hook, and lace.
For the man who should loose me is dead,
Fighting with the Duke in Flanders,
In a pattern called a war.
Christ! What are patterns for?"

Yours is, I'd say, equally thought-provoking and complex. Congratulations - you have talent, a way with words.

Answer 2

Interesting poem. If it is autobiographical, I think it's good that you have found an outlet to get out the feelings bottled up inside you. That said, it's not healthy in the long run for your mind or your body. Self-injury can lead to infections, scars, numbness, and even hospitalization and death. People who cut are more likely to get and spread HIV and Hepatitis. You have a right to be happy and to greet the line where the Sun and the Earth meet with great joy and happiness. If you are having an emergency, call 911. Otherwise call a helpline such as SAFE, Self Abuse Finally Ends, at 1-800-366-8288. Your poetry is exquisite. Keep yourself SAFE so you can continue writing it for a long time to come. Best wishes. I look forward to reading future works.

Here's a favorite poem of mine that I wrote several years back:

i am
who i am
am i

Answer 3

Poe was actually not a very good poet. He had a talent for the macabre, but no ear for language. His stories were always better than his poems.

Your poem starts off pleasantly deranged; it was a major disappointment when it turned out to be about self-mutilation. Why is every poem I read on here about cutting? It looked like you were going to develop a theme about the conflict between God's lines and man's in the context of this borderline-crazy rambling, which I thought was really promising. But no, you turn out to be another emo apologist who thinks every poem has to mention death and likes Edgar Allan Poe.

Answer 4

It sounds like you just waited for somebody to create a response that is actually to your liking.

But really you're poem isn't THAT great. I guess it's original but you need to tie these "lines" up so to speak. The part about hairs and arms needs to be changed.

Answer 5

It is equally important to know that publishing companies devote a tiny percentage of their total budget to poetry and small presses receive more poetry than they know what to do with. Bookshops, in turn, do not stock vast numbers of poetry books from mainstream publishers and very, very few from small presses. The reason for this is that sales of poetry books, Heaney apart, are tiny. For more: https://tr.im/Snow

Answer 6

I thoroughly enjoyed your poem, like you i am not a cutter, but i can totally relate, i wright about things that i don't do, or want to experience. at first i was a bit confused at your transition from talking about God to cutting, if you do any revisions you might want to make a clearer transition, but other than that i loved it.
God Bless!!

Answer 7

i no know what my drama teacher means by thinking out side the box! it's amazing how you can bld up a poem like that all about lines! lol

great potential but not my thing...we all have different tastes though!

Answer 8

Great lines!

Answer 9

i don't like it. too morbid and it's hard to read, it doesn't flow like a poem should.
peace

Answer 10

I think your poem is okay.. sorry.
but i like your name...sirus black. Ha! Cute..harry potter much?