I have always preferred poetry that is painfully honest, poetry that rips the flesh from our bones and displays the piss and shit of human truth for all to smell. I am a pessimistic poet, a pessimistic man, but I can still appreciate the beauty of words no matter what they are trying to convey. That's why I wrote this particular cinquain. Having suffered from obsessive compulsive disorder since the age of seven(my earliest memory of it) I have always been a slave to it's random rules, it's almost religious doctrines and insipid, relentless imaginings. This poem is one of its results, one of its positive results. Short, sweet and to the point.
O.C.D
I fold
my hands away
into parcels of sweet
comfort. Shy and afraid they go
unused.
I really like this. Like you said its short, sweet and to the point but it says so much in such a few lines.
ReplyDeleteI can really identify with this as well since I have also had some battles with mental health issues. Great poem :)
Good stuff, enjoyed this, clever, measured.
ReplyDeleteFound you at PoetryBlog.
Come see me at - http://kolembo.wordpress.com/2012/02/04/nigger-whore-bitch/
Well done.