Anonymous
Anonymous asked in Arts & HumanitiesPoetry · 1 decade ago

Tell me how you really feel.?

All hail the Crash bang of the calculator

Sum totaling our net worth

Figuring out if we can eat tonight

Tomorrow, the next day

Figuring out if we’ll celebrate your birthday

Christmas, get married

Afford children, repair shitty cars

And shitty apartments

Or operate on subtle malignancies,

We rise from tired old mattresses,

Rinse beneath rusty showerheads

Put on dirty clothes

And drive still asleep to punch in

Punch out

And give it all back to the unappeased mother

The absent deadbeat drunkard of a father

The cruel and crushing machinery in the blue suit

Behind the podium on election day

All the while the boots go crushing

Stamping out our hipster drifter doppelganger flame

Pin us down beneath the weight of expectations

The weight of obligation

The illusion of responsibility

Our life light dimmed by the proffer of a door

It’s darkness inking the town

like a sudden thumbprint.

3 Answers

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  • 1 decade ago
    Favorite Answer

    All hail the Crash bang of the calculator!

    Sum totaling our net worth-

    figuring out if we can eat tonight,

    tomorrow, the next day.

    Figuring out if we’ll celebrate your birthday,

    Christmas, get married,

    afford children, repair shitty cars

    and shitty apartments,

    or operate on subtle malignancies.

    We rise from tired old mattresses,

    rinse beneath rusty showerheads,

    put on dirty clothes

    and drive still asleep to punch in

    punch out

    and give it all back to the unappeased mother,

    the absent deadbeat drunkard of a father.

    The cruel and crushing machinery in the blue suit

    behind the podium on election day-

    all the while the boots go crushing,

    stamping out our hipster drifter doppelganger flame.

    Pin us down beneath the weight of expectations,

    the weight of obligation,

    the illusion of responsibility.

    Our life light dimmed by the proffer of a door,

    its darkness inking the town

    like a sudden thumbprint.

    It's= it is

    Its= possessive pronoun

    which did you mean to use in the penultimate line? your disregard for proper punctuation renders the potentially great, merely good.

    I've said it before- you write incredible first drafts.

    stream-of-consciousness as a writing style is not my favorite. it's coffeehouse poetry, which is better performed than read. beer helps.

    i like your writing alot. you have an adventurous mind.

    nonetheless, what's the cliche- good writers write, great writers rewrite? somethin' like dat

    Source(s): years of effort and the occasional ale, and an ear for the music in the everyday tale.
  • Anonymous
    1 decade ago

    So the hookline roped me in, but where this poem really takes off for me is about midway through "and give it all back to the unappeased mother" the imagery of suffocation comes through very strong and the emotion here is tangible.

    keep working this, it's very good!

  • 1 decade ago

    I feel with my fingers.

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