Time Passes Me By

[Tay M.]

I’m in a place where the trees are leafless and the air is bitter as can be.
A place where my pride is obsolete and my will is caught in a web of deceit.
My arm inked by the pen I hold in my hand with words that mean something to me,
My head filled with sounds and moments that will never exist in the time frame I live through,
And my victory shout hides deep within my body because
it knows it shall not see the light of day anytime soon.

Confusion... an understatement. I’m living with a personality that limits me to my full potential.
I stutter when the picture gets big, and I conquer in the little battles that mean nothing.
I ask for nothing more but to sit in the darkness, the solitude, so I can prepare myself for
the minutes that define my emotions, my actions, and myself.

Give me silence so I can fill my life with petty little things that others find foolish.
Give me a second so I can think about what you just said.
My reaction time is a little off; please be patient as I come up with my final answer.
I break myself down at every given moment, so my peers can understand me better...
So they can decide if I’m even worth the effort.

My head is starting to hurt... can you give me something to ease the pain?
Or is it supposed to be happening? Is it all entwined in the journey I’m on?
Is there a journey or is it just a pathway that I’ve accidentally starting walk down?
I’m so self involved that I can’t get over the fact that I’m just that... self involved.

I wish I had a journal, one that I could write all my empty worries and complaints in,
so I could discard the dead flowers and pluck new ones from the garden in my mind.
One that I could tell stories to, and it would do nothing but listen quietly.
One that doesn’t judge me for what I think, or what I say to it.
Something that requires nothing from me.
Something that I can’t disappoint.

The clock is ticking, but I don’t feel like moving. I’ll sit stationary until you move me by force.
Because time itself can’t touch me, time can only time me, it can only pass by.

[Vorcla]

Nice entry, Tay. I like the changes you made. You've got some really fresh images dancing around in here. I like this one in particular:

Originally Posted by Rain;

I wish I had a journal, one that I could write all my empty worries and complaints in,
so I could discard the dead flowers and pluck new ones from the garden in my mind.

Yeah.

Good SoC!

[Tay M.]

Thank you, Rick. I appreciate it.

[Peppy]

Damn, what I typed down is gone... I might as will try again.

Deep. These thoughts sound like they could have been written by a person in a small town or by a loner. Most of your stuff sounds like parts of unpublished songs, ranging from relationships to, say, politics, and this voice and the way its worded out is different from your usual style. It's not a bad thing, I thought I should say it. Most of the things you said I could relate to too. Indeed.

When I saw its length, I was astonished. Why does that sound so dirty to me? Anywho, I read it. This is long but this was interesting nonetheless and a treat.

Now this really spoke to me: --indeed it did--

Originally Posted by Rain

Something that requires nothing from me.
Something that I can’t disappoint.

I guess that's it.

Nice piece, Rain. It's been some time since I read something from you, I've just been busy with the other ignored and zero-commented pieces.

-

[Tay M.]

Thanks, Peppy, always appreciate your comments.

[RENA HANDS]

This was, is Exquisitely Charming, Rain.

U’ve most Delightfully set a tone, imagery with this SOC. I think though in some ‘areas’ U could have used more ‘potent,’ if this is the correct terminology, could have given a bit more Elegance to its wholeness.

Like here…

Because time itself can’t touch me, time can only time me, it can only pass by.

Maybe something like…Time itself can’t incarcerate me, it can only mature me, it shall only rush through me, over me like the winter’s cold bitter wind. (Well, maybe not repeat ‘bitter,’ but U get the idea. Just something a bit ‘softer.’

A rating to U FIVE of FIVE.

[Tay M.]

Thank you, Rena! I' going to think of something else for that line other than what I have... at least I'll try, A few people haven't liked it so I guess it's for the better. Thanks again.

-Taylor

[Venomous Vixen]

Gah, this is incredible. Seriously, I am a bit awe-struck, your writing has grown so much. The ideas you touch on here, the imagery and mostly the openness you share with your reader is just incredible. There is a humbleness, a vulnerability, a sense of need for validation and yet an air of not caring one way or the other. The bit about the journal is one of my favorite parts... dead flowers and sitting still and listening, how often do we just need something to listen! And then you transition into time and personify it, telling it it can't move you, just simply time you. How true and yet how many of us forget that! Really I could go on and on, it's been a while since a piece of writing moved me so much. Really, just an all around incredible snippet of thought.

[Tay M.]

Thanks.

[Lubesh]

I am stealing what bri said and adding holy crap!lol That was a delight and just to read it cos u love doing it and are growing and growing as we all do here.keep going rain keep going.

[Tay M.]

thanks, Anita.

[Vorcla]

I've commented once, but that was right after editing this. It's nice to come back as just a reader. I can only echo what Bri and Lu said - this is incredible, and might possibly be your best poem.

So far... ^_^

[Corneac]

I think, Taylor. This, is where your real poetic voice lies. In the brilliance of poetic narrative or monologue. This flows, beautifully, and rolls of your tongue, beautifully. But more than that...you can feel the arc in words, where the speaker is really feeling his own faults and is so painfully aware of his own flaws. It beautiful, and disarming and real. I think sometimes your descriptors almost hit cliché on the head, but there's a real endearing earnestness about your work.

I wish I had a journal, one that I could write all my empty worries and complaints in,
so I could discard the dead flowers and pluck new ones from the garden in my mind.
One that I could tell stories to, and it would do nothing but listen quietly.

Lines like that, that could so easily veer into cliché or come nothing but fragmented whining prose. It's not though. It something realer and deeper that really makes you think. I think sometimes you struggle with where your poetic voice lies, and really don't like it.

This is it. It's earnest, and its honest and it's heartbreaking. But most importantly, it's painfully real and not conceited at all. I loved the line lengths, they let you really spread your wings and take full advantage of SOC…” I’m living with a personality that limits me to my full potential.” Classic line. There was really clever self- parody in there as well, dry and witty.

My head is starting to hurt... can you give me something to ease the pain?
Or is it supposed to be happening? Is it all entwined in the journey I’m on?
Is there a journey or is it just a pathway that I’ve accidentally starting walk down?
I’m so self involved that I can’t get over the fact that I’m just that... self involved

I loved that, aren't all writer self-involved to a degree?

Great job Tay. Thanks for the read.

[Tay M.]

Thanks guys.... I personally like this one.