But when I can't sing

I clutch this box of music

like it’s a lifeline.

On nights it’s heard my voice, felt each calloused finger

when I’ve drunk too much, when I’ve

cried too much, when

I’ve laughed and then remembered.

 

You aren’t always going to be there.

I’ve seen you in a white box

with pipes feeding in and out of you.

I cried for hours in the library before you told us,

before you even knew

the scars you’d come to own. You were a

bafflement. If I spoke to you

it could be the last time. I don’t

want that last time, I don’t want it.

I amongst other voices in hardback covers:

a quiet voiceless girl with bony elbows.

 

Crying is a nice state. It relinquishes

all responsibility, all shame

and the shame is someone else’s

when they look at you and see.

It’s like singing. But when I can’t sing

I feel it all again.

Reviews

[Deviant Works]

This is very sad and yet wonderfully written. I have to agree with Stephanie, the last stanza was masterfully done. Thank you.

[Dani]

Holy.. gosh.
1) After the review you left me.. I feel bad giving you a review because I am terrible at reviews...sometimes. Period.
2) I don't fully understand this, but that doesn't take away from the fact that I absolutely love your style of writing. Love. It requires a lot of thought, and that is brilliant.
3) This feels like a dream in my head, but only because this is your story and not mine. You sound like you're about to lose/have lost somebody that's close to you, perhaps from a sickness or something. Hospitals look like white boxes, at least (and also make me think of music boxes). The final stanza closes the poem, but doesn't necessarily resolve it. It gives the reader a feeling that everything's okay - but sometimes, when the music stops, time stops as well, and that's when you're forced to live in the past.

Of course, you're the writer.. only you know what it truly means. But either way, it's wonderful. I hope to be reading more from you. Definitely.

[StephanieElizabeth]

Last stanza WIN. Golly.