“We hate poetry that has a palpable design upon us […] Poetry should be great and unobtrusive, a thing which enters into one’s soul, and does not startle it or amaze it with itself but with its subject”
A confession, is that what you ask?
Somewhat far from my taste, and such a waste
Of time; Oh, how I hate the poetry class.
A time ago I asked for Poetry to the Echoes in the air
And so they did declare:
“We are the same, but do not dwell upon the common world,
Yet we gather all, the bright, the dim, the flight, the fall;
We sing these songs, so fast, so fair, to mimic Realities, the vibrant Stare.”
Ah, by such statement felt so firm my soul.
Who cares about sensationalism, such a stupid thing?
Where to stick tongues, fingers, dicks, or sexual toys,
To better please the joys of girls on girls or boys on boys?
I’d say it’s a boring realism as vane as taking up a shit
And might be even more on the later to enjoy.
“But it’s all so modern”, you might say;
And every moment you tend to deviate the theme,
Ruining another pulsating emotion right beneath the skin.
No wonder how many people got away;
More than once I’ve also felt the bitter sweetness of giving in.
I’ll better decide the things I’ll draft, and how to write them;
A confession? Sylvia Plath’s fell flat; it did not stir a thing on me.
So no self-help involved, I take the Power in my hands and I concede
The Sight upon whichever path I want, as long as it respects the Silence.
No, I will not conform! Long ago I did give up the urge of blending in.
It’s never, never Víctor who speaks these truths,
Nor his many yous, who snuggle by the stars, who dream of ice.
I have befriended the darkness and the light,
Having left bare the tree of the forbidden fruit.
None but I, ungraspable; my spine,
Cracked up between the lines.
No, no I am no man.
This is no throat that speaks,
No brain, no bones, no skin.
Yet I dare to give away commands,
And I demand!, a search for ongoing sublimity.
So rise poem, raise your fist!
Ravage it all, consume it all, renew it all,
And claim your victory.
(This was an assignment on confessional poetry for a class I ended up hating. I decided to twist the subject of the assignment a bit to write it in my own style.)