Bible

I've looked through this I hope I've managed to iron out the majority of awkward jumps and while I did try to condense this I ended up adding more lines

 

 Oh they do deplore me,
I have heard them whisper
Seen them point and watched them stare-
“Oh look at him, look at that:
Why does he carry his bible behind his back?”
“And why does he quiver when we talk? And have you
Seen the patch of sweat on his stubbled chin?”
Yes they have pitied me as I looked
Ruffled and a little frayed,
When I have been witnessed alone with a book-
They point oh how they point,
“There he is, there he is
That man rummaging through his dinner with that rusty fork!”
But it does not matter a jot
For how they speak and how they gawk,
Is only the tip, to what I’ve seen.
For on each and everyone of their
Petty, and at times oh so pretty faces,
I have witnessed the desired salvation,
And pitied with a whimsy smile

Their-
Shallow graces-
Shallow looks.
And I have cried a little, yes they
Have made me weep, but it is only because
The impression they have of me
The visions they see-
Crumpled face, messy hair
Bitter grimace pulled across my face, which is oh so thin,
Paint a monstrous picture,
I myself do not see
I admit I can not see, nor can I feel.
Yet for what they do perceive, Can not be
For them, how much I care!
They have said of me,
“But he is not a man, nor is he a boy.”
And with malicious grins from each to each
“I am sure his mother allows him to run wild ,
You see that is why! The boy talks like he does....”

It is only in remembering her;
Red hair, dark eyes, short stature
But a pretty smile-
That I remember that I was once adored a little,
Perhaps not enough, perhaps too much
Perhaps by not one tiny miniscule drop.

Yet I still retain her name and her number,
Even if I fear that should I attempt to hear her voice:
She will insist she has already forgot,
And I will have lost-
The human reflection gazing from my coffee spoon:
Which is a little weary and undergroomed

But oh how they do deplore me.
Oh yes, Oh yes, I have heard them whisper
Seen them point and watched them gawk,
Yes, Yes, Yes
They do deplore me, while I pity them
Their oh so pretty faces, laid out above those garish frocks-

And while I watch them from behind my daily gazette,
Knowing and listening from underneath my breath,
The game is over and I’ve already lost.

Author's Note

Be honest I want to know your true opinion, provided that it is Constructive destruction! Praise for praise's sake may be nice but on its own it is useless!

Reviews

[Butch Decatoria]

Damn! And how old are you anyhow? Genius level writing for someone who looks barely in high school still. Enjoy your story-teller style, imagery is always discriptive and true, and absolutely give kudos for the poet in your genius--the feelings that are penned to paper. I applaud you, young sir. Thanks for sharing.

~~PFluffer (Butch Decatoria)

[Wicahpi]

This is a wonderful piece of writing!
Kudos!

[LJW]

First let me say that the title IS AWESOME! Of course I was thinking you were going to write about a gun.
How you said the Bible was carried behind his back....I visualized a small Bible being held under his belt, out of view like a hand gun would be if someone was packing heat and didn't want you to know it.

I felt like the piece started to fall apart a bit after that. The stanzas about the girl detract a bit, maybe add too much.

How about carrying on with gun-related terms, relating them instead to human-ness. For example:

Bullets = the glares from people
Trigger finger= the snap judgements made by people


Along those lines. I suggest keeping the cool gun theme going on throughout and see what you come up with. If it was me, I'd make a list of all the things I could come up with about guns, relate them to a human action or feeling, and then pick the best and work them in.

[Jessica M.]

Ha "constructive destruction" do people actually strive for such things? I really like this poem, try not to be so pessimistic about your own writing! In the ninth stanza, third line I think you meant forgot instead of forget. The theme of the poem seemed strong almost all the way through. The girl seemed a kind of tangent. Maybe rethink the ninth stanza and try to tie it in closer with the faith that others ridicule? I don't know, it just seemed a bit off to me. The poem seems to want to be put in a uniform structure, and I must ask why are the first and last stanzas centered? Overall, this is a very well worded train of thought. Nice write.