I fight this feeling every time
And I hate it
And in that moment, I hate you.
Is that too strong a word?
No.
I can feel it like a deadweight in my abdomen.
You've sliced me up and filled me with rocks,
Rocks of disappointment and failure
And I hate you for it.
I hate you for giving me nothing
But fucking rocks.
I - fucking - hate - you.
I don't know what window you peer through
To see what you see.
I wonder if the panes have a distortion
Geared just to exclude me.
Is it my Britishness?
Am I too conventional?
Do you not get me?
I must be a scatter ghost,
Running past you, a glimpse snatched
Sometimes
Because I'm not unnoticed all of the time.
To know that your eyes have landed on me?
I could bathe in that golden warmth
Like a revitalising magic waterfall,
Feeling that approval caress my skin,
The steady silky sensual trickle of success.
Those moments where you capture my ghost
In your literary net?
They're good, so good.
You take me out and examine me:
I imagine I am a brightly coloured beetle
Rare and revered.
Placed in the "Maybe?" pile...
But these moments don't last, do they?
I think you're a flirt
And more than that, you're never clear!
I want to please you but I don't know the rules.
Let me in.
Let me read your mind.
Let me know what you want so I can please you.
Please.
Because I like it when you pick me up
Place me on that pedestal
And let that spotlight highlight me
Like I'm some fucking glorified spirit.
I have been chosen!
But that pedestal?
It's not built to last.
It's an installation at an exhibition;
A trend for that time,
Destined to be disassembled and discarded.
Your gaze soon wanders and I'm left,
Bereft.
Dust gathers and forms
Into devils
And they threaten to blacken my eyes
And my spirit
Beckoning mean-spiritedness to come party,
Based on envy
And exclusion.
Those devils, they feel my hate and they feed my hate -
heavy, heavy rocks
To make me sink
So they can pounce and devour
With their cackling evil laughs
And bloodied teeth.
I don't want to guess any more.
You win.
Others win.
I guess I just have to sit here with my rocks
As the heart I've bared is eaten out.
Rocks that don't get removed
When there's my confidence to nourish.
I guess I just have to accept:
I'm good -
But I'm not good enough.
*
I wrote this when I was feeling particularly low. I've talked about that here:
I'm not particularly proud of this piece but as an expression of raw emotion, it is all there. I've just read it through after having written my first fiction piece for publication on Vocal for a while and I was going to delete it but having read it, it has merit. I like the ideas that I've strung together and I think that there will be a lot of writers who will be able to relate to it on some level. Seemed only right to publish it.
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Standing While Falling
Quotation from Friedrich Nietzsche "He who wrestles long with monsters should beware lest he himself become a monster. And if you gaze long into an abyss, the abyss also gazes into you. Man is not destroyed by suffering, but by the meaning he makes of it."
By LUCCIAN LAYTH7 days ago in Critique
Comments (18)
I like how this could be applied to multiple areas in life, though my gut says it's about writing. It's frustrating and gutting sometimes! I think I try to be as satisfied with what I put on Vocal/other places as possible when I submit them, so that I'm not disappointed by a lack of engagement or no placing/acceptance. Easier said than done, but it needs to be done for the thing itself, rather than what may come after. You can be proud of the piece you've crafted, regardless of outside eyes😊
So posting this link here so you may see it and it doesn't get buried. You'll want to read it. Sorry but not sorry. https://shopping-feedback.today/poets/ego-of-deeming%3C/span%3E%3C/span%3E%3C/span%3E%3C/a%3E%3C/p%3E%3C/div%3E%3C/div%3E%3C/div%3E%3Cdiv class="css-w4qknv-Replies">
Raw, powerful and so relatable. Thanks for writing it and sharing.
Emotional and real is always good writing to me!
I'm so happy you didn't delete this. That temporary pedestal is so real and so relatable. I hope writing this made you feel better. Sending you lots of love and hugs ❤️
Ha! Yeah, definitely felt that one. Good, but not good enough. You're such an honest writer and that shines through in all your work. Wishing you nothing but the best Rachel.
We count, you count Just keep pushing forward and don’t look back Looking forward to reading your fiction piece
Your feelings always have merit, Rachel. And your writing does as well. You've always been one of my favorite writers.
It definitely has merit, Rachel, and I’m glad you decided not to delete this raw emotional poem. Sometimes writing is just a good purging exercise. Be well and take care of yourself, my friend.
I really, really like this. The rawness of it makes it hit so much harder. There's a lot of emotional honesty in this and, at least for me, it makes it resonate. The questions you ask, the metaphors, all of it is perfect. I'm glad I got to read this!
I think we’ve all felt this! Thanks for putting it into words
Um, yes, this has merit. Sure, it's raw expression but it's also scalpel sharp in it's honesty and that makes it both extraordinary and incredibly relatable. Every single line of this hit a bullseye in me (except "Is it my Britishness?" of course) so I won't highlight all of them, but "Am I too conventional?", "Because I'm not unnoticed all of the time.", "Because I like it when you pick me up Place me on that pedestal", "Placed in the "Maybe?" pile..." and "I guess I just have to accept: I'm good - But I'm not good enough." all put to words some emotional places I have definitely been more than once. I'm glad you didn't delete this.
What are the rules? What do they want? I’m glad you published this, Rachel. I have felt this many, many times. I love how raw and honest this poem is and what a wonderful reflection it provides of your honesty. You’re a wonderful writer, and I love reading you even when your hurt and sad.
I like the conversational tone in the beginning. The imagery of the feeling — representation of a dead weight in the abdomen. Was brilliant. The disappointment and failure, taking on the appearance and weight of a rock, gives me every bit of an idea of exactly how this feels. Damn that hurts. From the window, they peer through ~ to the fact of feeling invisible... 💔 Your Britishness... Damn. The way you describe the scene of finally feeling noticed. Is just absolutely breathtaking. Damn, even though I think I know what you might be talking about, I still feel I have no idea. But yet still, I understand. So maybe I do... I guess I just have to accept, I am good but not good enough. A mic drop last line, that was. Rachel, this was fantastic, if there ever were a better word. I am speechless! 👏🏾👌🏾❤️
Let it out Rachel!!! That’s the best way to overcome these feelings! Your honesty is refreshing. I appreciate it.
This is pretty raw and oozing honesty. Also relatable. I off to read the attached link now.
To be honest, I felt this deep in my soul yesterday when the last round of winners were announced. The peice I submitted was so hard to write and read aloud. I stewed for days over whether I wanted to post it. Then I got nothing. Very few reads and comments. No acknowledgement. And this week I really, really needed a win somewhere in my life. Your poem is so relatable. It reminds me of Cecelia by Simon and Garfunkel about the equally fickle patron saint of music.
I am glad you published this. Missed your gut-wrenchingly honest and relatable poetry, chum. I have felt the very same things you've felt and still continue to! Even with successes, the times between successes stink and then there's all my non-successes outside Vocal too, lol. So, you're definitely not alone. This bearded Scottish asshole is right there beside you!