Guest Minta Rose Posted July 12, 2002 Report Posted July 12, 2002 He flails with child's gestures, half-aware he's fallen short of his what-might-have-been; no more can he pretend to being thin, with skin gone drowning-pale from lack of air and mottled, worn itself all free of hair by slippery stink that greases skin on skin. His flab is fondled, fingers pressing in, and rearranged, he knows not why or where. I'll tell you why. You've seen my hate before-- this bland facade, I do not want to find! The only beauty-marks among your pores are beads of bruises, practiced art of mine. I lash out at my shame--you're worth much more, you're not so bound by flesh, within my mind.
Peredhil Posted July 12, 2002 Report Posted July 12, 2002 amazing intensity distilled into so few lines. evocative.
Guest Xradion Posted July 12, 2002 Report Posted July 12, 2002 All I can say in response is "yowza! Dat one's a doozy deah!" Nice work!
Guest Foe Calibur Posted July 13, 2002 Report Posted July 13, 2002 A tallent for the dramatically different Minta; accompanied by your wonderful skill, the artwork sings of hope, though desperation is of overwhelming volume.
Quincunx Posted November 28, 2004 Report Posted November 28, 2004 a Tzimfemme poem, roughly, that still eats at me years afterward. edited: He flails with child's gestures, half-aware he's fallen short of what he may have been; no more can he pretend to being thin, with skin gone drowning-pale from lack of air and mottled, worn itself all free of hair by slippery stink that greases skin on skin. His flab is fondled, fingers pressing in, and rearranged, he knows not why or where. I'll tell you why. You've seen my hate before-- this flawed facade, I didn't want to find! The only beauty-marks among your pores are streaks of bruises. All of these are mine. I lash out at my shame--you're so much more, you're not so bound by flesh, within my mind.
Recommended Posts