My Very Own Holographic Boy

You took my hand, my mind, my judgement.

you took away my innocence, 

along with everything else i had left to give;

but i offered it willingly on a silver platter

like a pig with my heart its mouth. 

 

Then you locked it all up, 

and you stowed it away

where it blended right in with the shadows

in a little glass box with a key

that you forged from your very own bone.

 

you took my shattered breath,

and you made it into music

that you listened to on a regular basis;

while you summoned the words i vowed never to say

from my iron tongue.

you molded me like clay in your artist's hands.

 

when the summer got hot, 

you lifted your palms

and turned the bed sheets to wine,

which we drank while discussing death and deja vu.

 

when i cut off my arm, you cut off your own

and sewed it where mine used to be,

vowing you could never breathe once more

without both of my arms left to hold.

 

tell me why you've got no arms left then.

tell me where the other one went. 

 

tell me why, 

though you'll tell me never,

of the other glass boxes growing mold in your closet.

are they the ones you lost  

with the skeleton of my rotting heart

thats been dead longer

than i've known it's been missing?

 

You're the one.

 

You're the holographic boy

i've been wanting for christmas. 

yes, i knew what i asked for

when the hologram faded

and you threw off your sheepskin,

standing there as a wolf.

the day my grandmother went missing,

i dropped my mouth and played the part.

when i should have walked off stage. 

 

i wrote the book, 

but i'm still surprised

when the wicked witch melts and shiloh dies.

over and over again...

 

i just wish i could have abandoned my pride

and opened up my stained-glass eyes

to see really, truly, fully just how much  

i gave you in that little glass box.

and oh, how i wish i had taken the time

to realize how hard the flood would hit

the day that you threw it away.

 

tell me again Noah,

but you know i never listen.

 

Reviews

[Rachel DeHart]

"i just wish i could have dropped my pride

and opened my eyes, to just how much

i gave you in that small glass box.

and i wish i had thought about

just how much it would sting

when you threw it away. "

That stanza brings the whole poem together and just makes my heart stop. I know the feeling far too well of giving too much of myself, and losing it anyway. And you describe it wonderfully.

[Chloe Madison Taylor.]

while you summoned the words i vowed never to say

i know exactly what you mean. I think it goes without explanation.


I think we're somewhat in the same place in our lives.
way to go.

[zak]

What shiloh dies ?! F**k. I knew I misinterpreted that novel. Remember Hatchet by Gary Paulson ?

Ok.

To me, what makes this poem is this line,

tell me why you've got no arms left then.

Followed by the flawless "Tell me" parallelism. The tell me is a golden manifestation of angry passion, and sets up for the great contrast.

Its good. I like it. I can't really criticize it. I mean, I have fake bullshit criticisms, like I was looking for a different rythm for the second half of the poem, or a structure that mirrors the action - but its really futile because the way you've done things works, and very well at that.

So, well done.

[Adam Chambers]

but i offered it willingly on a silver platter

like a pig with my heart its mouth
a key

that you forged from your very own bone
you took my shattered breath,

and you made it into music

that you listened to on a regular basis
turned the bed sheets to wine,

which we drank while discussing death and deja vu
when i cut off my arm, you cut off your own

and sewed it where mine used to be,

of the other glass boxes growing mold in your closet.
You're the holographic boy

i've been wanting for christmas.

and when my grandmother went missing,

i dropped my mouth and played the part.

JULIA, I AM VERY PROUD OF YOU. YOU KEEP CHALLENGING YOURSELF AS A WRITER AND YOU KEEP GROWING. THANKS FOR SHARING THIS WITH ME. THE ABOVE LINES WERE MY FAVORITES, AND I'LL TELL YOU WHY:
I WAS FORTUNATE ENOUGH TO GET SOME HELPFUL CRITICISM MYSELF THIS LAST WEEKEND FROM AN OLD FRIEND OF MY FATHER'S WHO DIRECTED THE GRADUATE PROGRAM IN CREATIVE WRITING AT U. OF IOWA (ONE OF THE BEST IN THE COUNTRY) FOR YEARS. HE SHOT HALF MY POETRY DOWN, AND LAUDED THE OTHER HALF. WHAT HE TOLD ME I WILL SHARE WITH YOU:
1) A POEM'S JOB IS TO HELP THE READER INHABIT AN EXPERIENCE, AND IRONICALLY IT DOES THIS BEST WHEN IT DOES NOT SPELL THINGS OUT TOO EXPLICITLY.
2) ALSO IRONICALLY, THOSE THINGS IN POETRY WHICH ARE THE MOST "PARTICULAR," IN OTHER WORDS THINGS THAT ARE NOT COMMONPLACE AT ALL, THAT ARISE OUT OF ONE PERSON'S VERY PARTICULAR EXPERIENCE OF THE WORLD, END UP HAVING THE MOST UNIVERSAL IMPACT; THE "COMMONPLACE" THINGS DON'T EXCITE, DON'T INTEREST
THE ABOVE EXAMPLES OF LINES IN YOUR POEM I HAVE POINTED OUT BECAUSE THEY ARE EXCELLENT EXAMPLES OF BOTH OF THESE THINGS-- WORDS AND IMAGES THAT ARE NOT COMMONPLACE, BUT PARTICULAR TO YOU; AND THAT MOVE ME INTO YOUR EXPERIENCE WITHOUT SPELLING THINGS OUT.

THE GENTLEMAN I SPOKE WITH OFFERED ME EDITS AND REWRITES GALORE OF SOME OF MY STUFF, USING THESE PRINCIPLES AS GUIDES, SO I WILL DO THE SAME FOR YOU HERE WITH THIS POEM. IF ANYTHING, PERHAPS IT WILL HELP YOU TO CHALLENGE YOURSELF FURTHER TO BRING THIS TO AN EVEN HIGHER LEVEL. I KNOW YOU, LIKE ME, ARE HUNGRY FOR GROWTH, SO I OFFER THESE SUGGESTIONS IN HOPES OF HELPING:

HERE IT IS:

I offered innocence on a silver platter

like a pig with its heart in its mouth
placing myself in a glass box for you, the key
to which was forged from bones,

you took my shattered breath,
and made it into music, listening to it
on a regular basis

turning the bed sheets to wine
which we drank while discussing death and deja vu

when i cut off my arm, you cut off your own
and sewed it where mine used to be,
making me believe

but what of the other glass boxes
growing mold
in your closet? You're the holographic boy
i've been wanting for christmas

standing there wolf-like with sheepskin
laid out on the floor

and when my grandmother went missing,
I dropped my mouth and played the part, wish
I hadn't


THIS IS JUST ONE EXAMPLE, ONE POSSIBLITY, BUT DO YOU SEE HOW THE LESS COMMONPLACE WORDS AND IMAGES IN YOUR POEM REALLY POP OUT NOW, AND ARE ALLOWED TO SHINE BY KIND OF CHISELLING OFF THE OTHER STUFF? IF YOU LIKE IT, OR ASPECTS OF IT, FEEL MORE THAN FREE TO USE THEM-- THEY ARE YOUR WORDS, NOT MINE, I JUST REARRANGED THEM (I MUST ADMIT I HAD FUN DOING IT TOO).

VERY GOOD STUFF, THOUGH, JULIA. KEEP IT UP.
DO YOU STILL DREAM OF PINK CADILLACS?

--ADAM