This is a poem but artistic license is used heavily as it follows no rules of poetry. Understand as well that this is a piece of my reality. It says what I need it to say. I've moved passed this point in my life, but it was a point that needs to be expressed.
She came home again at three in the morning,
sneaking into the house as silent as can be.
I laid awake until then, heart heavy,
chest tight, sleep just out of reach.
She can't even look me in the eye.
Money is spent like water, alcohol flows freely.
I hold onto mine, kept separate and safe.
Lacking a winter coat, wearing sneakers in snow,
unable to buy for fear of not enough food.
A new bottle appears on the fridge, red wine,
anger follows at the question of cost.
Took off my wedding ring for the first time,
more then a decade since it was put on.
Told her that the ring had no meaning.
How could it when she wouldn't put me first?
Her response was to take hers off.
She doesn't want to be alone. She needs her friends.
Friends keep her occupied four nights a week,
passed midnight those nights, when she sneaks.
A night turns into day before she comes home.
I visit a sick father. She goes out again when I return.
I remember a notch in the rafters in the basement.
A hole wide enough to slip a rope through.
I dream about kicking a chair out from under me.
My heart is heavy, and my chest is tight.
I dream about dangling.
It makes no mess.
The question of critiquing, and offering opinions on another person's writing, and how much stock we place in those opinions is essential to our writing.
Do we rely too much on what another person is saying about what our writing is saying to them?
I have, in the past, taken too much of what was said about my writing and incorporated it into my work. The result? Something that does not sound like my work at all.
I was dissatisfied with my last draft of a poem I wrote about a year ago. Why? I listened too much to opinions, and the result was that the poem didn't say what I wanted it to. I removed the emotional content, or too much of it.
When we write, listen to opinions, read your work, and think long and hard. Sometimes, tightening the words, reworking the wording is enough. Other times, complete removal of entire sentences, in order to fix the picture we were painting, is necessary.
Most of all, don't write with another person's voice. It is your voice that you're developing. This site is not for another writer to fix your writing, but it is for help to see what we may have missed.
Last but not least, don't forget, we offer opinions only. If you disagree with that opinion, don't fret. Not everyone will enjoy your writing, but there will be those who do. Respect another person's opinion, their work, their writing voice, and definitely expect that respect back. If the respect is not shown, ignore that opinion.
A bit of poetry I wrote about a year ago.
The tears that silence brings.
Silence, something that says you aren't saying anything.
Who knew that such silence could cause such suffering?
Keeping your words to yourself,
Keep anger inside, rage inside, sadness inside,
so the other can survive and keep going.
When there are no words to speak,
no tides to turn aside,
only your thoughts to keep you company, there is still only silence.
Years of keeping a family together,
for the sake of the children,
the silence can be overwhelming.
In spite of all the yelling,
but not saying what you need to say,
what tears at your heart,
what clogs your throat, there is still only silence.
Being strong in the face of the problems
that would crumble a weaker person,
bring them to their knees.
Your legs are still stiff and strong,
your shoulders wide but burdened
worries piled there, there is still only silence.
After years have gone by,
the words still won't come,
stuck behind a dam strong and high
feels like it will never break, there is still only silence.
After a loved one has passed on,
the inner strength that has kept you going
flows away from you.
Words you needed to speak had not been spoken in time, there is still only silence.
At the end of the silence, there are the tears that silence brings.
I found myself publishing a very objectionable statement in my writing, and when I say publish, I really mean post. I had the idea for the event in my head, but with no frame of reference, and very little thought on my part (obviously), I wrote something without actually thinking about what it was I wrote.
After a couple of opinions were in, I had to read my piece again and again, not to see their points, but to find a way to write the idea without losing the flavor of what I wanted to convey. In the end, I ended up changing the idea to point to another outcome, or desired outcome. It wasn't that the event itself would be objectionable, but how the character felt about it.
The problem I really had, and still have in many other sentences, events, ideas, and scenes, is that because I wrote it, to change the words would erase the idea. Maybe the idea wasn't good enough in the first place? Maybe I shouldn't have wrote it?
I think that I become too personally involved in my writing that I take offense to solid and unbiased opinions with excellent points that I should take the time to consider.
The major thing I think that I will take from this site's lessons is the knowledge that I have to step away from the writing and be willing to take criticism, especially my own. Without that criticism, I will only write base stories that will never be ready for publication. If all I want to do is get the idea out of my head, then I'm on the right trail. If I want them published, I have to keep on learning, and try to understand that this isn't personal.
Here I am, minding my own business, trying to sleep, and a blooming dream comes in and interrupts that wonderful sleep with an amazing idea for a new book!
I've already one that is in revision mode, another sitting in the old noggin waiting for time to be put down on paper, another sitting in a file waiting for time to be written properly, and finally another idea that screams at me to get writing.
Too many ideas, too little time, and my job is getting in the way! Wahh!
Oh well, that's what I love about writing. Unpredictable, full of inspiration on one day, and dry as the desert the next. Ohh, and I forgot that other dream I wrote down last week, and the one I haven't yet put on paper.
A whole lot of ideas.... Too bad I still have to sleep.
Separate names with a comma.