I Stink At Poetry

Heyyyya!
So I haven't posted in a while, and you definitely deserve some words from me, so here are two fresh, unrevised poems that I wrote for a class in school. To be honest, I really struggle with poetry. My problem with it is that I feel as poetry is an extremely personal writing experience and so the readers cannot connect and relate to the words very easily. Maybe it's just me, but poetry is extremely hard to understand unless I was the one who wrote it.

I would definitely appreciate some constructive feedback! Also let me know what ideas you can get out of my poems. Enjoy!



Gravity
Neverending floatation condemns the people of Cannonsville:
The cold surrounds each and every one, but you barely feel a chill
Marit’s head is stuck in the clouds, yours is nearly in space
Left of the real you, there is scarcely a trace.

Reality grasps your heel to force you back to earth,
But it’s been far too long and your feet don’t know how
Of gravity, there is a certain and noticeable dearth.

The people live constantly in the danger zone,
Each one reaching for his distant throne
Almost all gone from the present
For nothing will they relent.

But below them in the clouds reality truly exists
Salvation from the sky may be a lost cause, but reality persists.





Silent and Loud
Nothing.
Not a breath, not a voice, not a single word.
Your mind.
Rushing, screaming, processing, filling.
Thoughts.
Wild, random, chilling, confusing.
Warmth enters your soul, purifying your heart.
Demons fill your head, tearing at your insides.
This is SILENCE.

Everything.
A million breaths, a million voices, a million words.
Your ears.
Cold, beating drums, attentive, active.
Sounds.
Music, people, wind, echoes.
Your head is filled with stimulation, challenging your brain.
Your heart is screaming for quiet to hear yourself think.
This is LOUDNESS.

Two seemingly opposite sensations,
maybe not so different after all.


Mischief Managed,
July

Comments

  1. I like the second one. I don't really know what it means but I think that's how poetry is meant to be.

    -M
    The Life of Little Me

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    1. Thank you for your comment! It means a lot :)

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