some french word I can't think of at the moment

I just thought it'd look pretty

jarred up on a kitchen shelf

catching the light

and throwing it back out

to anyone out of their mind enough to notice.

 

and on top of that,

all of my paintings stare back at me,

unfinished and a little splotchy;

it's still the same propoganda,

still the same striving to prove that, yes,

I love you.

 

I see myself like this hungry and destitute

bit of a thing

with pleading eyes and my arms stretching out

and it almost makes me sick,

almost.

but I turn my face away from

the thought just in time

and tell myself

that I am certainly no fluffed debutante

and I very much have what I need.

 

there is still that firm whisper

that always retorts softly to my harshness

that there is no shame

in needing another,

because after all, don't we all?

 

Reviews

[Shane William]

This is such an awesome poem, I hope it gets more views. My impression is the 'light' being caught is you molding any form of artistry, such as poetry, and 'throwing it back out' into the world for people to notice. I don't know if that really is your intended metaphor, but, I find it intense.