Challenge 8:: Back-story

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Thread: Challenge 8:: Back-story

  1. #1
     
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    Challenge 8:: Back-story

    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.
    Last edited by Mantra; June 24th, 2011 at 10:33 PM
    ...

  2. #2
    Express'on is EVERYTHING Express'on's Avatar
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    Re: Challenge 8:: Back-story

    this concept is dope...seems like a long process...I think Ill try this
    "the ink of a scholar, is worth a thousand times more, than the blood of a martyr"--lupe fiasco
    "I'm sonnin' ya'll like father's day/disrespect pop and get popped like Marvin Gaye" Skillz


    WRITTEN VOICES

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    Re: Challenge 8:: Back-story

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

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    Re: Challenge 8:: Back-story

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

  5. #5
    Express'on is EVERYTHING Express'on's Avatar
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    Re: Challenge 8:: Back-story

    ok...ill have mine in a day or 2
    "the ink of a scholar, is worth a thousand times more, than the blood of a martyr"--lupe fiasco
    "I'm sonnin' ya'll like father's day/disrespect pop and get popped like Marvin Gaye" Skillz


    WRITTEN VOICES

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    Re: Challenge 8:: Back-story

    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.

  7. #7
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    Re: Challenge 8:: Back-story

    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

  8. #8
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    Re: Challenge 8:: Back-story

    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"
    "the ink of a scholar, is worth a thousand times more, than the blood of a martyr"--lupe fiasco
    "I'm sonnin' ya'll like father's day/disrespect pop and get popped like Marvin Gaye" Skillz


    WRITTEN VOICES

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