Ghosted

I find people hard to understand these days. It seems they feel the same about me.

Every word
I say
Falls on deaf ears
These days
As though
Some fine web
Obstructs their
Passage

Maybe my lexicon
Is wrong
Maybe I say too much or maybe not enough
Maybe I should just shut up in the hopes that
Someone notices the silence and
Tries to fill it because
Silence
Is uncomfortable.

And so am I.
My edges are blurred
From trying to fit
In to so many spaces at once
Trying to be so many people
I'm tired of remembering which mask
Will make me acceptable to you
Which of my phrases you'll acknowledge
And which will be watched
As they wander through the air
Like a lost balloon

I'm tired of trying
I can see myself fading
Ghosting
Or being ghosted
I can't tell which anymore.

Author's Note

Constructive criticism is all I'm after

Reviews

[John Alexander McFadyen]

There is a discernible change of pace from stanza three. The first two stanzas come over as exploratory. The protagonist seeking answers to the situation then it seems to fall into acquiescence after 'and so I am'.
great pathos.

[Gerald Parker]

In my opinion, poetry should contain imagery, sometimes fortified by metaphor. A sequence of thoughts written down the page with no rationale behind why lines end where they do does not make a poem. It might make a piece of prose.

I shall measure out my life
with spoonfuls of borrowed ideas
and with a pretence of knowing
about this and that and poetry.

Just tell me the ingredients of a good poem
and I shall have a go at writing one.
And tell me the right form and shape
so that it looks right on the page,

and I will knock it about a bit
so that the lines end at the right place.
Meanwhile, once more creeps on me the urge
to write and churn it out like this:

The jolly verse that off my tongue doth trip
Maketh all the girls' hearts to dance and skip...

But who has powers these days to sit and rhyme?
Sitting and rhyming we lay waste our time.
Or perhaps I'll try another tack:

On woeful jazz-days like this
I stand and stare and cannot piss...

Write like this and they'll throw it back.
'Ere, why don't I try a little nonsense spoof?

It's late, the cats are howling on the roof,
My husband will not be home tonight...

No, this won't do, the subject's too trite!
What if I hold a short idea between my teeth
like elastic and pull?

Yes but, how far? How far?
Far enough's too frightening,
Far far too frightening,
Far far too Pascalian, much too far to
It's a long way to when will I ever ...

Write like this and the answer's never!
Well, at least I'm on my guard against self-deceit,
ever since a man did accost me in the street,
and he did insult me with no uncertain greet

ing, and ready, I, to go on my
thought how oft doth wisdom cry
out int strasse, a nasty sod he called me und
so me geschtoppt und listund:

he said "Write no tripe in cryptic lang
uage and eschew
lousy lines
that just
hang
together in sepulchral sound
sjust knocked around."
.

[likesgreeneggsandham]

I really enjoy your poems. They are cleverly constructive and convey such depth of feeling. This theme of feeling like a ghost wearing a mask is one I have come back to time and time again in my own poetry. Nicely done.

[PatrickPink]

Your comment is truly appreciated, thank you. I'm fascinated by ways of constructing poems, there are so many styles out there!