Tram lines

Lying to himself had been too easy for too long. He looked at his hands: so like his grandfather's, restless in their strength, eager to hew and saw. He wiggled his tongue: so like his father's, shy until loosened by alcohol. Without a mirror he still knew his face to be kind and forgiving like his mother's, despite his square jaw. Since achieving a pretence of independence he had thought himself a self-made man, springing whole out of his own head like an insanely incestuous Athena. Now he realised that 'to discover yourself' means that you already exist -- he had been on tram lines the whole time. He had followed his passions, forgetting that his passions were in his heart to begin with. "I was a piece of marble," he said to himself, whisky helping him talk. "And in it I found the soul of the material, the shape that was always meant to be expressed." Perhaps this is self-made enough, he thought. And then he felt shame, for other hands had worked on that marble, and he had belittled them for touching him.

Reviews

[emmajoy]

We are what we are, flaws and all and, it's the flaws that make us human, whether self.inflicted or adorned by the world in which we live. Surely? Whether we live alone or with others, thought will fly us into another place and whatever wholeness or purity we lean towards will slowly, slowly bend. It's life, not guilt.

Your writing pushes the reader.reviewer onto another level, that's always so very welcome.

[TLK]

Thank you for being willing to be 'pushed' -- it's this kind of acceptance that makes me want to keep writing.

[Brett Moore]

I like it. I'm brought to what it means for all of us to be made in a world that exalts the self made. What is a self made man? We're all standing on our father's shoulders and seeing through our mother's eyes. Or some combination of their strengths and weaknesses. And are we not all marble? Raw material that shines so beautifully when worked and polished. But worked and polished by who? Those other hands are teachers, mentors, friends, family, critics, enemies, etc. We are clay, the variables of life are the hands and life itself is the kiln. Who knows what will happen. But it is beautiful. Very cool.

[zee]

Awh! I can relate to this. I have pieces of my mom and daddy and it took years to accept myself as I am. For i am them and they are me. And I am grateful to be here. Your poetry is beautiful. I love the words you use. It reminds me of a time long ago.
Thanks for sharing.

[Coffee Lady]

I love the idea behind this poem. Your poetry is very much prose poetry which is intriguing to me because I also tend to write without a strict form. I also notice that you have finished your poem with a moment of the character experiencing shame for his previous thoughts. I wonder how the character arrived at this shame so quickly within the poem. That said, from the point of view of the reader, this poem does succeed in challenging me to consider the idea of gratitude in my own life and relationships. Thank you for this inspiring piece.

[PatrickPink]

I love a bit of prose poetry! This is a wonderfully well crafted piece, addressing a complex issue that you've managed to condense down into a series of beautifully constructed points. Your repetition of the phrase "so like my x" reinforces the ideas represented in the poem early, and the voice you give the protagonist wraps up your ideas wonderfully. I do struggle with figuring out whether this is a poem describing a discovery of self confidence, or a loss of it however, but that could just be me!

[Suhd]

It's a nice poem with really deep idea.

[Ayushi Jha]

A very strong poem. You are left with a sinking feeling towards the end . Applaudable. The style of this poem is intriguing in itself, very unique. Will read more :)

[Tina H.W.]

Ahh...I really liked that. It's warming and soft. Almost poem cum story. A really nice piece :)

[Johnson Bobby]

beautiful I almost cried after reading this poem thank you!

[Crazyreader]

This is so true for all of us.

[Jim Slaughter]

The writing here is excellent, fairly concise and yet with lots of "meat" on its bones. I don't really understand, however, TLK, why you would label it "A Poem". I don't think it really fits the structure of a "prose poem"...there's too much description. And the opening sentence is a real "hooker" for a story or even a novel, in my opinion. It certainly "hooked" me.