Daddy's Little Girl

High School poem, again.

The memories of my past still disturb my mind

I remember every word, I just wish you could be kind.

You act like I'm terrible, and I can't do anything right.

You made it clear of that with our daily fight.

The edges that you pushed me to, 

the limits of extreme within thoughts that never pulled through.

If you only knew, but if you did, would you even care

Most of the time I pretend that you were never there.

I've turned into stone, just like you.

Reviews

[Eagle Cruagh]

Terribly sad that you have such memories,
but your story is well written and intense.
Thank you ,
---- John

[tarek]

Sometimes i have similar feelings towards my Dad. Your direct writing is full of honesty. Thanks.

[Dr. Wood ?]

great ending line...good poem...but you have to lose the 's' on disturb...Memories disturb...A memory disturbs.....Easy to miss...I do it all the time

[Riley]

Thank you for pointing that out. I actually have a hard copy of this poem where I had originally wrote it, and when I typed it on the computer, I just looked off the hard copy as I wrote and didn't really even look for errors like that. I will fix it thanks!

[Patricia B. Hepler]

'The memories of my past..disturbs my mind'...'I've turned into stone, just like you'.
Swift, powerful text. Enjoyed this read. ph

[MoriartyMesa]

First piece of music to come to mind http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8FooVTP0oxc

This reminded me of something that was part of a larger song, poetry and music. Not sure if that makes sense, but some work flows like music and this did IMO.

[Riley]

@ Rasputin - Thank you, I don't know a thing about boxing, so you didn't waste your breath by rambling on, it helped me understand what you meant.

[Rasputin]

Damn. If that's coming from your own childhood, then I'm truly sorry to hear that.
I think the strength in this piece lies in its brevity. There isn't any wasted energy- reading it is like being on the receiving end of an efficient jab from a professional boxer (and I mean that in a good, literary way; not a painful, rib-breaking way). That's literally what I thought of when I read this- watching a boxer stick and move (if you don't know what that means, it's when a boxer throws out quick jabs, all the while dancing around his opponent in order to whittle away at his stamina. That's what each word here is like).
See? This poem is so good that you unwittingly made me go on a rant and compare it to boxing. I don't even like boxing, yet somehow my review ended up being longer than the poem itself.