Challenge 8:: Back-story

[Mantra]

Write a poem of any length detailing the back-story of an object or person. It could be anything: a piece of gum stuck under a table, a random face you encounter on a daily commute, a discarded cigarette butt, etc. Once you've chosen something create a narrative around it - try to imagine how it arrived there, the events surrounding it, or how you came to find it. As always I ask that you try and be as creative as possible...don't omit any details. When your finished, feel free to post it in the main forum for additional feedback.

That's it. Get creative and have fun.

[Express'on]

this concept is dope...seems like a long process...I think Ill try this

[Mantra]

Yeah I like it too. I'm looking forward to seeing what you guys come up with.

[Mantra]

You guys need to get on these or I'm just going to clear out the posts.

[Express'on]

ok...ill have mine in a day or 2

[Soule]

Bound by desire,
caught in golden threads.
Sewn together carefully
by exotic animal flesh.
A rare exhibit,
this blissful mascuerade.
Appears once a year,
but fails to ever change.
Memories cover it up,
pretend its extraterrestrial.
I have this dream once,
and then use it like a shield.

[Spoken]

Silence stabs the room,
Then a jingle clangs thenesrs.
-Hey George how's the kidss?
They find just always cranky.
Ahaha...
.
.
.
He always has been linky,
Wobbling slinky...
Walking all dirty and stinky.
Paper toilet hanging,
Word slanging;
Words banging to reproduce sagging
-he was still though always on time.
4:30 on the dot never the less
Playing as the best
With the silence; a game of chess.
Retrospect.
Always staring down youngsters,
Calling them no good ball busters
Looking for hustlers
To copy and paste they're true custom.
Gritty teeth from the chew,
Spitting last week words in a tube...
Decapitating emotional screws
-at times that were unevenly spewed.
His nickname was anonymous,
Even though we know him.
Big round table, 4th seat
Color red-ish yellow but
Only on his short caus his pants
-Stay Black
.
.
.
Grew to know his homage,
Each detail crystal clear.
He has grown on my tongue
For words involved his name often.
Substantially kinda reeking,
Cause it would years behind now
With ears clasped to the ground
That I speak forth of what was then
-only now
Morbid dreams cause only
He and I spoke since mother
Left and daddy died...
He is the only one suffering
Here in this broken home.
-that we share the same cigarette at
They place we grew fond of personality
The broken home uncalled nirvana.
They place he hides and only knows
By knowledge like the back of his hand
-truth

By
Bringing
Back
What
Was
Then
And
Forgetting
NOW

[Express'on]

OBJECT: A single lipstick imprinted kiss on a mirror
(Italicized-3rd person / non-italicized-woman)


“The beginning of love is to let those we love be perfectly themselves, and not to twist them to fit our own image. Otherwise we love only the reflection of ourselves we find in them.”

Thomas Merton

I.

Your reflection
Still lost in the fog.

I can see you.
Your eyes
right over your lips,
A single kiss
To yourself.
left on a mirror
For my eyes only.

II.

The glass opens
And lets me
Enter through
her pupils.

Her soul traces
Repetitive replicas,
Each fading further
Away within tears
Bated in her eyes;
Her lids like sand
Embankments
Wading inside;
The growing pains
Taking its time;

I am only pupil myself
Learning her minds lingo;
Reading her inner most
thoughts and questions

III.

How did I allow
this to happen?
She beacons.

Mascara running
Blacken tears fade,
her face
a masquerade ,
of pain and shame;
The shade she cast
paved a place,
for her past
to take away,
who she once was.
Now a memory
so faint
She can't remember.

IV.

I ask her. Why?
Her lips tighten
and cringe
She screams

Bitch.

V.

Bitch
That's what he
called me;

It took nearly
An army to
calm me down.
He threw
His arms around me
Apologized, and
I forgave him.
No more then
3 days later.

Bitch.

Not this again,
Immediately he
addressed himself;
to protect himself
But this word
was beginning to
Manifest itself;
In his vocabulary.

Bitch.

The same thing
with a little less sting.
He even smirked
He said...he said it
Playfully.

Bitch.

Watch your tongue
It slipped
His lips were numb
The word it comes
So naturally now
He didn't even notice
Neither did I

VI.

Why?
My brows down
browsing her face
for a reply.
Instead a heavy sigh
she said

VII.

January 05'
Stuck in my head
Like a tune;
that you only knew
by chorus;
Saying it
over and over;
Trying to get
The lines right;
Im trying to get
The time right;

6:15 pm

VIII.

He came home
stressing
I tried to address him
console him
Just when I approached
He grabbed my throat
I Begged him
His hands slowly
Unclenching
Letting me go
His eyes closed
Mine open in shock
I didn't even notice
he'd stopped
My throat still throbbed
closed; tears
rose as a knot
I buckled and dropped
right there
looking into
a blank stare
its apparent
he's carrying
more than he can bare
Maybe he didn't
know I was there
He cares
too much about me

IX.

She smiled
almost proudly
Im sure it was sarcastic
I wasn't willing to ask if
she still felt that way
I didn't deserve to know

So, How did it come
this far...
away from what
it used to be;
she said

X.

Truthfully
I couldn't say;
I knew
I couldn't stay
I knew
I couldn't leave
I knew he
Couldn't
Wouldn't
Do this to me
at least not
intentionally

You never asked him
how he really felt
if he even loved you
Or were you
loving by yourself

The question
made her think

Maybe it was me
the minute shifts in mood
I couldn't state
or prove
I know I've
made a mistake
or two
Too many to assume
I don't have much
to move
and even less to lose
I just hoped that
one day soon
he would say
I'm sorry too

XI.

Point fingers
saying Im
the one to blame
and Im the reason
he can't change
Thats strange
considering
I never had a choice
Every time
I spoke aloud
he put his
hands around
and took away my voice
Then those vice grips
turn to fists
and anger
turned to rage
I hold my breath
so my throat
looks as swollen
as my face
bracing for the
next hit
except it never
came
instead it
rained kicks
to barely
conscious frame

XII.

She spent days
waking in this
window pain
breaking off
fragments
Picking
at her skin
the scabs
coarse
over scars
drawn
with nimble
fingertips
her silhouette
drips tears
as her palm
smears away
a distorted face
to make
way for
clearer picture

XIII.

Removing
Blacken tears
Masquerading
her face,
once shadowed
by shade
The drain
drinks her
pain and shame
as she cast away
the faint
memory of
who she is

XIV.

I love you

XV.

She applies
mascara each
eye at a time
she brushes
her hair
as if it were
new;
she wipes
the lingering
tears held at
the helm
of her lip
She unzips
her purse
grabbing her
lipstick
she turns
back to the
mirror, slowly
filling each
fissure
with burgundy
paths finish
covering
each crevice
perfectly

XVI.

closing her eyes
she leans forward
toward her reflection

Her lips curl
into smile
opening
slightly

I kiss her
her lips
lightly

a last goodbye
left on a mirror
For my eyes only

XVII.

"Im sorry
I never meant
to hurt you"