Thick Skin

[Keith]

I love your use of words! I agree tho i missed the direction of the poem. Keep at it!

Hi customfitted
I am very happy commented, but you need to give me more to go on. What words did you like ? tell me the lines that you didn't understand that way i can make them clear. Best Keith

---

So sorry Keith, life is life and I'm only coming back to this now. Still love this just as much. Comments below.

1st Edit
I lost every key,
even the ones I threaded
on boot lace round my neck, the comma seems off but I love this beginning, really sharp.
you snapped them like pearls. this image doesn't work for me, because I don't know which image to choose-- little kid elastic plastic pearls, or the connotation of swine, or pearls breaking and tumbling around the floor? I dunno which one you mean and none of them seem to fit either.
I hid them at the backs of draws,
blue tacked under table tops yes yes yes love that
but you still found them. so here I'm thinking key to my heart? before it was more ambiguous, could be keys to sanity, home, etc

I mind myself in unlocked rooms, here we're back to the sanity key, but the transition works for me.
respectful of what I was,
balletic Hippo at the waterhole, all I can think of is Fantasia. is that what you're going for?
rising like returning salmon. what is rising? the hippo? what you were? I'm confused.
Drinks would go flat and I would burn
plastic in the ash trays
of engrossed conversation. here I feel like this is a bit over my head and I can't quite grasp what you're getting at, and as awful as that feeling usually is, it's perfect here with the narrator you have. not to mention the lines are lovely!

Your words still fall ferrous, I think this could be improved
too much rust eats me away. the wording seems a bit convoluted... but again this narrator seems less than reliable so I'm leaning towards this working
All I need is the oil can,
painted red, held by cobwebs,
locked inside my old shed,
a few drops left, left inside maybe?
with spider guards, in case of theft. a metaphor for said narrator's heart, or am I way off?

I hear you at the door,
the sudden gust
takes the blossom too soon, what blossom? what door? of the shed?
a spear that’s thrown across the room
damages nerves and I'm impugned
once more. this strophe seems the weakest to me. I know what you want to do but you can do it better.

You take away and I subtract
then watch ten years before I act, gold star for these two lines!
hung like trophies on your belt,
a bunch that keeps my jail. and again
Wake my spiders, they won't bite,
this armadillo escapes tonight. yea ok, he's armoured and all that... but not a fan of the ending, especially with how strong so much of the rest is.

Original
I lost every key,
even the ones I tied,
boot laces round my neck,
cold on my chest.

I've forgot their faces,
places I could find a laugh,
keyhole kaleidoscopes,
too much rust to turn.

All I need is the oil can,
painted red held by cobwebs,
locked inside the old shed,
I worry it might be empty.

I hear you at the door,
the sudden gust
takes the blossom too soon,
sucking life from every room.

Then I see them on your belt,
a bunch fit for a jailer.

Ok well that's what I got for you. Hope it helps, but I'd really like to see this developed even further. It has just a few things dragging it down but it's so close to excellent!

-justcloudy

Many thanks justcloudy this was really helpful and has led to a 2nd edit much appreciated. Keith