Going Home [2nd edit]

[tectak]

Hi mad,
Yes,it is long and consequently suffers from that old ague, conjunctionvitus. There is not enough effort in the connective thinking department, when stanzas could be contained and curtailed by content...so you have, in S1, five conjunctions; four of which serve only to hold together over-extended wordiness to the detriment of rigidity. The structure wobbles as the metaphors weigh on the framework. First observation then, tighten up. Try precision not proliferation. This would encourage discipline in your stanzas which "as is" just have no raison d'etre.
Home

You want to reduce me to ‘mommy issues?’ Why the quotes? We either know what mummy issues are, so no quotes needed...or we don't, so why use the expression.? Cheap device which breaks in use.
I may be a little rickety these days
but Fear and I played marbles and jacks
I rode in cars double-seated with Anxiety
and shared my lunch tab[le with Anger and Hatred Punctuate for Pete's sake...or you will become happy with uncertainty of intent. "..marbles and jacks I rode in cars..."?

I don’t care to look through my memory box
I slammed it shut, duct taped and left it
But each time I make my way home See. I told you so. You are butting needlessly. Punctuate as a first option, not last
somehow it creeps out from under my bedSomehow? How? Oh, IT is like monsters? Read aloud what you have written to catch these little errors.
like the monsters most children fear
I’d take those claws and teeth over this
How long ago did the fear leave you? ...and predictably you have now completely lost all desire to be clear and are shitting out words uncontrollaby and uncontrolled. Force yourself to STOP pensively after each purposeful point...then give your condensed thought the benefit of space. Isolate the each meaning with punctuation before stumbling into the next. Remember that you can read your own coming thoughts from a couple of words back...the reader has to wait upon you. You see the gaps coming and skip over them...the reader stumbles as I am so doing
The strength of mine reaches across miles mine what?
The pull of home’s ‘golden’ horizon Golden...I know the word. Did you "think" I would "need" to "look" it up?
is sweet, simpering, and sickening

But I am done looking into mirrors More buts than bananas so I guess that's a blessing...but,yes, we have no bananas. Conjunctionvitus
searching for the child I used to be Ah yes, the old search for oneself. I wondered when this one would pop up. Look, it IS a cliche, but that is not the problem. The problem is it is superfluous to the theme. What IS this about? Are you going to list the things you don't do? If so, then write a poem about them...another poem...just not this one. This one is about what you do do...I think.
I haven’t fallen apart in weeks
and the last time that my tear ducts
tried to betray my fighting heart, Nice thinking.
I became tight clenched fists and jaw Awkward syntax here. It is that bloody"and" again. "...I became xxxxxxxx and jaw"?
and I screamed at the sadness
until I was angrier at it than myself.
I might not be able to swallow it whole
like the twenty-six pills I took at breakfast
but I pull it back from my eyes and throat
to stow away under collarbones
and in the tense tilt of my neck No. You are weakening your whole ethos with too many conjunctions. It is now irritating . Stop. Get your thoughts into stanzas. Short stanzas preferably...they are short thoughts. Nothing wrong with that.

I don’t know if it’s still there now
I’m sure it’ll arrive here soon
to check up on me, dissolve my resolve,
and drag me back across state lines What?

That fierceness is new to my fight;
usually I am soft sobs, bitterly woven
into a cocoon of salt and desperation
quietly petering out into relief
and silent self-absorbed reassurances Good. Very good. Drop the "that" and your poem starts here. Holy shit...another but is coming! The poem ends here.
But such politeness got me nowhere
People with unfeeling consciences Ask yourself...what does this mean? Then tell me
like blaring biohazard warnings
or blank-eyed, crossed-bones signs
to warn away from toxicity and poison;
they paid no attention to quiet objection,
steamrolling over my shrinking spine
and neither does my sadness, it seems
Have I stepped past that now, at last? You are warming up but too late. I really like the metaphor but without consistent punctuation it loses punch and power. Worse, I keep expecting it all to be disavowed with another but.

Quiet whisperings or taut muscles,
blood or sweat or tears or ink
I don’t know what cuts the ties to childhood
I might still choke on my airline ticket
and I might not drive off into the sunset
at the end of the next strenuous summer
But goddamnit, I will make it
I will have to dig graves in my heart
but those eulogies can write themselves.
I’m not here to mourn my priority list
or validate a need for re-grouted tiles

A greyhound bus, a stiff back, a pile of cash
My mother rode that out of her hometown
three days after her high school graduation
Someday she’ll understand my reasons
and let me wheel myself away from her
the same way she had to do back then
Or she’ll die like her mother did
Sinking into unwatched dusty corners
as the shower bar turns into a clothes rack
and the crazy piles up against the door
Did anyone rescue her from that?

I wish they had let it be my case study
Gave me one more hard-won math lesson
on how to subtract myself with less damage
On how to play the polite family game
of Sunday morning tea and insincerity
Only the old get to stop bullshitting, I guess
I told my grandfather I wanted to be a lawyer
and he said my brother would make a great one
I never learned how not to slam down
a hot cup of tea with lemon and honey,
and pretend sharing blood meant that mine
didn’t scream beneath the same bone structure

Everything about home speaks of monsters
Wanting to drain my parents dry is cruel
but survival instincts hold strong, it seems
I wonder if my compassion used to lie
in the left wrist I broke in kindergarten;
I think I lost track of it that far back
Those split bones were from the last visit
to the monsters, or sisters, of my mother
Ancient people used to divine with bones,
scattering them across a table and Seeing
Hindsight tells me mine spoke back then;
Like mother, like daughter

---

I stopped through exhaustion. Yes, it is long..like a CV that tries to get every job, there is an embarrassing desperation here. Shorter stanzas are easier to control and curtail. Sorry to add this but elimination can also be easier if there is more fibre and less gluten...if you will excuse the metaphor
Best,
tectak
I'd love some comments focused especially on where I'm breaking for stanzas, and on how to improve the first stanza. I'm aware that it is very long and a bit drawn-out, so please let me know which parts you think are most effective. Thanks! C: