Hello again. I am going to break down one of my poems again. Brace yourself! This poem was called Bruise and I wrote it when I was also feeling a little down again.
Clothes on the floor-
Yellows, blues, greens and black.
A bruise to my heart and my mind.
A dent in the clutter.
To the obvious
a cause of objection of outside forces
when it is really
a slight disturbance
with process of healing.
Dark corners of dust gathered together
with no hope of light shining through.
A box of containment
where I can never be seen again
and fire continuously pummels me
with invisible scalding.
A large scribble like a nest
of tangled thoughts.
Black and increasing
like a nest of tangled thoughts.
Broken teeth nestled within.
No hope of extraction.
No hope of breaking free.
Yet, all in a process of healing.
Before I start breaking apart my poem, let’s define what a bruise is. According to Wikipedia, a bruise is “…a type of hematoma of tissue in which capillaries and sometimes venules are damaged by trauma, allowing blood to seep into the surrounding interstitial tissues. In English, this means that there is an injury that hurts and it is showing, but there isn’t any blood pouring out everywhere.
A start the poem with an obvious visual. Clothes are on the floor which depict obvious clutter in the room. I go on to categorize the color of the clothing into colors that do not seem like it could symbolize anything, but they are actually colors of a bruise. I extend the metaphor in comparing the physical clutter on the floor to the clutter in my mind i.e. too many thoughts. It has left an impact on me and it has definitely hurt me. I go on to say that people notice the injury-my inner strife because I am wearing my heart on my sleeve, but the next couple of lines describe what I’m trying to get across through my poem.
“…when it is really a slight disturbance with process of healing.” What I’m saying here is that after this injury has occurred, recovery is already happening. I already wrote this in my previous blog post, but I do agree that life can get at you sometimes and it does hurt plenty, but you cannot let that hinder you. You must let it heal, but don’t beat yourself up for it or it will never heal.
After that sentence, I throw in many analogies because I love analogies. I go from dark corners, to a box of solitude to a scribble on a paper which are all used in an attempt to describe my mental state. In the last couple of sentences, I basically state that there is no hope.
I like to think of my last sentence of the poem as that tiny voice in your head and all that voice ever speaks of is subtle reminders that things aren’t as bad as they seem. Injuries do happen for a reason and they do heal immediately after conception. It just will take time.