Jar

Wasn't sure if I wanted to share this. Either way, be free to read if you are willing to feel some slight discomfort. If not, then don't read it.

An empty jar in a storage bin once held my insides

Like how a mother holds a baby

The pieces of paper I wore as if clothed in shredded dreams

That became a blend of mundane melancholy somewhat there emptiness

I feel strangled at the end of my rope hanging on for dear life

But life isn’t dear to me, no, life is just a jar with a label

My name is a specimen, my life is an experiment gone wrong

And science learns from the mistake of tampering with flower petals

Growing older than my depression, younger than my pride

This world has passed me by, the seed of a sapling cut down

Before I could ever touch the sky

This selfish noose, this hollow tree, this empty jar

Wounds wholly grasping the dirt’s virtue in the morning rain

I came from there, to stand up tall

To be on high, and wipe my eyes

Crawling on clouds, beaten by sun

I feel the nook and cranny of every story, knotted, scarred

Lining the journal of my body, the pages mine

Stapling shut my spine, the skylight’s whine

To embrace the static miasma of onomatopoeia

The cursive spells of heresy, hexes of the perpetual bondage of

language

Against the grains of times, running through my blood

 

Like sand through fingers, strings of puppeteers

Stuck in their own webs, lost in the waves of history

Left deserted in the past, drowning in tears and holy water

Driftwood alone in the basin of souls stuck in an infinite watery abyss

The whirlpools of drooling dreamlands spanning billowing sails

Growing distant shipwrecked among the fallen stars

Empty space, wastelands away

Sorrow running like water through the bloodstreams of gods

Cold as the stone tablets held together by monoliths alone

These people that were but a shadow on the wall

Coming together as one being of darkness at midnight

 

People point fingers at those who have none

Hands shaken by the cool winds of dusk haunt the abandoned hospitals

Where nurses become jailers, where a madman became patient

And god becomes human, judged among the crowd of sane men

Where jars became ribcages of glass, broken

Until they cannot hold their contents

And people pour their hearts out to strangers, alone

Before they could ever touch the sky

Where mushroom clouds reign supreme over concrete castles

Birds fluttering like butterflies guiding souls to heaven in their dungeon

And lose my mind halfway house style, like how a child is born still

 

As I watch my fingers double-cross each other

On the other hand though, at least I can count on my heartbeat

Spiralling into crescendo’s of tempo

Loopholes passing through my double-helixes

And the jars are full like my stomach

And I vomit voices, like an answering machine that doesn’t question its own existence

And the storm outside is just angry feet walking over me

And I am still a sapling, trying to turn over a new leaf, sleeping on my back

Coughing up the truth, like phlegm, not trying to spit on others

Like the rain does to the sidewalk after a cold shower

Like how an empty jar can hold a baby better than its mother

 

 

Author's Note

I promise I read every single review, and I generally will reply to them. I look forward to my next review, because it helps me learn. Even if it's just one word, I promise, I will be happy to hear anything you feel needs sharing. Whenever you write on my shortcomings or breakthroughs, or the themes of my poems, or share ideas and friendly criticism, it decides my next poem to an extent. I will listen, learn and be thankful. And 99% of the time, you'll get a reply unless you're trolling me.

Reviews

[barleygirl]

Killer artwork to go with your message. That art alone would inspire someone to have to write about it. I love how this poem reads differently than yours often do. It seems to have a childlike innocence in spite of the adult ideas presented. It even feels a little incongruous that an "innocent" would have ALL THIS to say about the torturous process of living & dying. I absolutely LOVE the glass jar analogy thru out. This is a brilliant theme for this message becuz of the fragility & transparency of glass . . . such a contrast to the way "real" families are often more like rigid unbreakable structures that are never opened up to the light. I feel that, as writers, we put ourselves into a glass jar & we set it on a shelf for people to pick up & shake around & look into, commenting & judging all the while. I also love how this starts out with a bit of a tiptoe effect, then grows stronger & bolder as the feelings pour out, yet not reaching the full-bore tumultuous effect that you often use in your writing, so that even at it's most fulsome pitch, this poem still feels a little floaty & light like innocence (((HUGS))) Fondly, Margie

[R.J Calzonetti (SinisterPotatoe)]

I've always wanted to have a powerful poem, yet a lighter tone and wording, less intricate so much in wordplay, but in what is beings said. Powerful wordplay and multiple meanings are powerful, simple poems can achieve the same results, but only if they are meticulously created in an elaborate, elegant, loving, or emotional way I feel. I was depressed when I wrote this, and somehow, the way I was feeling gave me the opportunity to write this. I wasn't sure I wanted to share it. It was a bigger piece of me that I was willing to slice off and part with. A bit of my soul is in this poem. A bit of my life, to an extent. But in the end, I shared it. And I have no regrets.

[.]

My review is coming up with a poem. I just wished that I get something to disagree with and I got it! It's the second after "Never dying artist" for your poem "The broken artist". :D

[R.J Calzonetti (SinisterPotatoe)]

I look forward to it. :)