Lucky~

depressions

little dimples where life

pressed

its marble sized hollows

excessively

until my skin absorbed

each moment of pressure

and my body became a tattoo

of fingerprints

handprints

leaving their mark

a

     n

           d

I could cry

or sharpen my blade

however, they are mine

my pain

I prefer to own them

these slivers of memory

I wear

like strips of cloth

around the bend

where

every strike to knees

scraping existence bloody

arrived involving  a lesson

in inflexible reality

coaxing early maturation

to manifest

as

either

humanE in the human

or inhumane in the blood speckles

at the corner of a child’s mouth

beads

perverse cultivation

always delivered with a bruise

or two

birthing those flat eyes

that are like thick ink

at the bottom of a bottle;

I was lucky to escape my fate

lucky to be given a quill

instead of a bottle

to bleed my pain

 

copyright:2010vssmd/amusemusepress

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Reviews

[Ron]

Hi Selene, Like I said before I feel your pain I was abused and used starting at 4 years old . Too many of as have . I loved your poem and almost cried for you and myself. But we are survivors and no man or woman should beat, sexual abuse, dehumanize or shame another person. The scars are forever torture, but like you thank god I have had other things and good people remind me that not everyone is cruel! Your sword is the pen but it dosent hurt to have you katari handy. Thanks for touching my heart and reminding me Im not alone. Your writings are like a pain pill and a scar remover at the same time. Lots of Love Ron

[TAO]

Yes, yes yes! What more can I say to the goddess of poetry? Amazing work, truly amazing. I always like the things that make me feel, or remind me, even when they remind me of where could be right now-not here. What struck me in this piece was the line "I would cry or sharpen my blad, however they are mine, my pain, I prefer to own them..." Definitely striking at nerves with your word, Selene. Brilliant work, again and again.

[Dani]

There's no way this is a product of luck. Luck isn't permanent and not nearly as powerful as this. This is the heart in the finest form.

[Gauge "Rage" Parks]

there is no a word or words or even a sentence can describe what you have wrote so gracefull wonderful....love it more then anything i could think of. i will keep this poem close to my heart because its the best in the world and i would do anything to write something so brilliante amd amusing as you

[.]

day after day my fear friend my "hamanE" escapes me
& lord knows i've no humanity of my own & lord knows
i have found so very little in the chipped winds of my
frigid winter secrets of late,
but my friend i know
(that in one creative way or another)
i know that i can find in your words my 'humanity or inhumanity'.
u know-whichever attempts to evolve within existence on such days.

"I was lucky to escape my fate
lucky to be given a quill
instead of a bottle
to bleed my pain"

I hope that someday we all find such fortuity Selene. (:

[MuSe Ampoule]

To reap the silver lining of such experience, to pull the knowledge hard earned from these...and survive...is the lucky part! Illuminating work, my dear!
Love the break out of "and"...draws it out so nicely and the capitalization adds emphasis where needed.

Fantastic write as always.

[Brad]

your story could be told in braille because of all the dents, punctures, and holes that have been inflicted on you...the true sign of greatness is how you never played victim only the victor...bravissimo, bella

[Obbligato]

This is like looking in the mirror and seeing yourself in your present state and examining the visual affect of your life’s journey. The little dimples, the marble sized hollows, fingerprints, strikes to the knee etc all are marks or scars that represent who you have become. The paths you’ve chosen and the consequences you have faced for those decisions. You embrace them, you realise how far you’ve come and how those dimples and hollows have gradually moulded you into the person you have become. We all need to look in that mirror once in a while and see who we have become. Do we like who we are? Do we even love ourselves? Where are we going?

This poems use of language and imagery is truly at a high level. I love the words used and the pure structure of the piece. A great piece of work that should make us all think.

[JelliFyshKissUs]

Not lucky, my dovely. Luck doesn't produce thoughful, entrancing pearls of wisdom like this.

[OR]

You're "Jeanne d'Arc" (Joan of Arc) fighting with your pen for the rights of women
I applaud that