Image by Digital Photo and Design DigiPD.com from Pixabay
Well, boy howdy, I just made myself sad a.f. with my poem. I thought about pouring out my heart here in this space where I pretty much have an audience of one. But then I thought about the lurkers and I remembered my own wisdom.
So, we'll just go to the poetry prompts instead.
Yesterday's April PAD Challenge prompt asks for a love or anti-love poem.
Today's April PAD Challenge prompt requests a taste poem.
Today's NaPoWriMo prompt
asks participants to read the poem My Grandma Told Me Stories or Cautionary Tales by Marlanda Dekine.
I wrote about the fact that I came to love monsters because I am one of them.
Not a "monster" in the sense of being a brutal person who deliberately harms other people and creatures. I've been the target of such people throughout my entire life. Some of these people take on the form of "helpers," such as the nurse on the psych ward when I was sixteen years old who told me I was a freak and would always be a freak and that something like me could never be normal.
I told her "better a freak like me than a bitch like you."
I remain proud of that retort.
I'm a monster in the sense that people have always rejected me and made me feel ugly. The idea of "loving myself" is so foreign to me as to be laughable. I have learned to tolerate and respect myself enough not to put up with other people's abuse any longer. What the fuck does "love yourself" even mean?
I have spiky armor, and if you try to probe around under it, I will defend myself with extreme prejudice. I don't and never will trust easily. I always expect that people are going to betray me in the end.
I think the soft center of me is worth getting to know, but people will never bother. All they see is my unbecoming exterior.
I am not a pretty girl. It isn't what I do. However, I understand why I used to try to be one and why I fell into the snares of empty men who just wanted something to use for physical pleasure and a punching bag. I understand why I fell for the overtures of false friendship from insecure females who desired a companion they could think of as lesser.
I wanted my poem to hit like a short, sharp slap. I had trouble making it fit the confines of a Senryu's syllable scheme. Fate must have been in the mood for a brief, depressing poem because this is what came up in the Carpe Diem archive.
I wrote my Senryu/Tanka thing in Kanshicho style, which does not have a required syllable count.
Just for fun, my syllable count ended up being 8-9-7-7-7.
~Ornery Owl Has Spoken~
Image by Clker-Free-Vector-Images from Pixabay
Owl, alone in the dark.
Here is what I was listening to while creating the poem and post.
