“O.K Poem”

A/N: This poem was born out of bitterness. I wrote a poem about fireworks, after being completely caught up in the usual feeling of childish glee and heart-is-soaring-in-the-wind feeling that fireworks always give me. I wrote it in a rush, and went to read it out to my mother; my only willing audience.

She made a face at it. She said it was an “O.K poem, not really my usual type”.

I was indignant and affronted; not just at the slight to my poem (which I never thought was brilliant, anyway), but the slight to my courage. I  mean the courage it takes to share your poetry and risk criticism. (I was an arrogant little thing) And apparently I had a ‘type’?? Self-loathing comes with writing, I know. I hate what I write, more often than not, but being my writing, I can’t help but feel a sense of responsibility for it. Insulting my writing is like insulting a disappointing child of mine, I may hate it, but its MINE to hate. Thus I stomped off to write another poem.

This is an OK poem.

It’s not meant to rhyme,

it’s not meant to make you laugh,

or weep until you’re dry.

This is an OK poem

from the bottom of my heart;

but you don’t like it very much;

it’s not a work of art.

I write my OK poems,

and hide them in the dark –

for my very heart’s ink rolls onto paper

but leaves an ‘OK’ mark.

They decay in bashful silence

thinking they’re ‘ok’,

till later I hate them altogether,

and throw them all away.

(Originally written – November 2010)

(The significance of “my heart’s ink”:
Honesty is something I have always sought in writing. This sounds impossibly arrogant, but I have never written a single thing I haven’t felt for a sustained period of time. The feeling comes first, a nebulous swell, the words are only apt garments. It’s not the most perfect phrase; its not completely apt. But I hope readers understand what I mean.)

A poem is an absolutely frank expression of the self, so criticism of the poem implies a criticism of the self. That’s very touchy of me, I know, but well. I’m working on it. Ugh. Expect more of this sort of unnecessary, terribly defensive rambling in my blog.

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