I've drawn a picture….metaphorically speaking,
Of the man who claimed my poetry
was ‘neither good nor bad,’
and wrought
with ‘typical metaphors.’
According to him,
I managed to say nothing
that 'hadn’t already been said.’
So, here are a few words about him--
That may not have already been said.
He’s like...
A cigaretteI fixate on pressing my lips onto him, and make a worthless vow to stop once I do
A pillow
I can’t stand other people touching him
One old sockI keep him around, even after realizing that the defects from years
of wear-and-tear may deter his primary function of comfort and warmth...
hoping that his softer and lesser-used half may show up and create a whole
Hands
I can't get him soft enough. No matter how hard I try
A telephone
Provides an outlet for exchanging communication,
but incapable of conveying actual feeling
A telephone call
I was excited by the promise that
it delivered when I first heard it, but disappointed when I heard what it had to say
A tear
He seemed cathartic, but just made my eyes red and puffy
A bruise
A destructive and painful event in my past that lingers on my personThe Italian language
I don’t understand him, but I’m convinced that my previous experiences and former training will assist me to do so (they don’t)
The province of Xu Xi
He’s distant and intangible
Hair gelHe seems like a good idea, but always ends up making me look stupid
Plath did this better
Doesn’t matter anyway.
According to him,
I wouldn’t be able to pull it off.