devirginating desire

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a grey sky is like a page resting in
a solution of redundancy and restraint,

i have filed my complaints, nailed them
on the doors of my assailants, their bite
marks still fresh on my wood-picked skin,
their claws bright-white where they once
etched a mark of this impunity
that they call desire.

no one ever told me that i wielded an agency
over the brownness of my skin, or utility
of my innards, or roundness of my ass,
or the thought of my throat,
well riddled in the ecstasy of wants,

so i began to write my loss of agency without
knowing what it ever meant, so i reclused myself
to a departed space of pain when i never
knew that it is but to be salvaged.

my tiredness is my reprieve, in my restless
lies and stigmatized submission,

of a hundred torn-pieces of this tapestry.
the white falls slowly. the red fills
the myth of my own charity.

erased — i write when there is nothing
to be known, reversed to the birth
of a sky, with a broken scaffolding.

picture me when i have yielded to
this vile wantonness of freedom,
and the stubbornness of my disease.

.

© Anmol Arora 2018

For my upcoming prompt at dVerse Poetics (The Art of Confession in Poetry) later this evening, wherein I am invoking the likes of Lowell, Plath, Sexton, and Das to understand the nature of confessional poetry. Also linking it up with the Tuesday Platform at WTR.
Image source (Charles Francois Mouthon, Academic Study, 1892)

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33 thoughts on “devirginating desire

  1. sanaarizvi says:

    My goodness this is good! There is a certain power, an intensity to this poem that makes you feel deeply its hidden emotions and truth. I am looking forward to your prompt tonight! ❤️

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Colleen@ LOOSELEAFNOTES says:

    This brought tears to my eyes. And it is so well versed as to get in and under one’s skin (in a good way) when we are so tired of language not changing much and fake news perpetrated by fake leaders. Like you, I see blank pages everywhere.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Kestril Trueseeker says:

    Being reduced to an object, a blank canvass for people to paint their fears on in the most lurid of colors… this piece has a powerful center of justified anger in the heart of all the sadness. It will be hard to forget its power.

    Liked by 1 person

  4. From this:
    “a grey sky is like a page resting in
    a solution of redundancy and restraint,”
    to this
    “reversed to the birth
    of a sky, with a broken scaffolding”
    There is so much in the piece. Powerful.

    Liked by 1 person

  5. As soon as I saw the title I thought, this is going to be a really good confessional poem, Anmol – and it is superb! I like the way you start with a grey sky, isolated in the two lines – a visual metaphor. The shift in the second stanza to the complaints is subtle but hard-hitting, with effective phrases, such as ‘their bite / marks still fresh on my wood-picked skin’. There are further shifts from stanza to stanza, revealing the origin of the complaints and their effects on the speaker of the poem. I love the tapestry metaphor and ‘reversed to the birth / of a sky, with a broken scaffolding’ – the circle is complete.

    Liked by 1 person

  6. Glenn Buttkus says:

    A perfect illustrational poem for your prompt. Yes, it is powerful, rife with insight and despair. Too often we absorb the pain, gulp back the insults, and let ourselves be manipulated and victimized.

    Liked by 1 person

  7. I like to believe that you moved from being powerless, allowing others to “use” you to realizing that you own yourself, realizing your freedom and power, almost a rebirth. A powerful piece of writing, filled with hues, anguished and brokenness.

    Liked by 1 person

  8. The agony of your dilemma comes through… I loved this line…
    ” so i reclused myself
    to a departed space of pain when i never
    knew that it is but to be salvaged.”

    Both poets and musicians find inspiration in their painfulness-

    Liked by 1 person

  9. Nora says:

    Very powerful, stunning. I picture a phoenix rising, and I’m rolling “the thought of my throat, well riddled in the ecstasy of wants,” around in my head.

    Like

  10. The alliteration used in the poem title is so powerful – evokes mixed reactions!
    Your poem is always so deep and carved beautifully.
    I loved this stanza the most –
    ‘no one ever told me that I wielded an agency
    over the brownness of my skin, or utility
    of my innards, or roundness of my ass,
    or the thought of my throat,
    well riddled in the ecstasy of wants’

    Like

  11. Confessional poetry was a vogue when public self-explication (or exoriation) was novel (further back, criminal, especially if you weren’t a white male). We write ourselves wide on the public and pubic wind these days, so what is novel and new about confession? How does it deepen truth? I like the naked vulnerability of this poem–exposed and raw for it–though for me the language still hides the heart of it. For me, art and heart are rare in the same expression. Maybe surface is all we have to yield to the beloved, and appetite the communion.

    Like

  12. Your word choice is colourful, adds depth and shadow to your thoughts. This is a very interesting phrase, and I wonder if you feel the truth in it… ” i write when there is nothing to be known”

    Like

  13. Margaret Elizabeth Bednar says:

    The moodiness of this piece rests upon your amazing use of colors and the intimate tone your words project – it’s as if I really am next to you as you whisper this …

    Like

  14. This is such a powerful reflection. I especially like these first lines,
    a grey sky is like a page resting in
    a solution of redundancy and restraint,

    I look forward to reading more of your poems.

    Like

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