Growing into my mother's shoes

[tectak]

this is about a girl who is afraid of ending up like her mother
Hello,
first of all, just drop the centre align. It is unpretty, pretentious and utterly purposeless. Second, don't tell me what it is all about...the poem should do that.
Right, off we go. Here we have a concept cliche BUT there is nothing wrong with that because when concepts are cliches, cleverness is called for. Will you do it? Well, just using silly language won't be enough. Tiles do not coat anything...remember that for the future. Tiles "lay" on the floor. Small point? Yes, maybe...but symptomatic? We shall see.

plates crack upon impact with the tiles ...a statement of little surprise. I would be surprised if they did not. Do not make much of little.
that coat my kitchen floor, Period. You have written a sentence.
my mother stands between marble counters, Means nothing to me unless she is in an urn. Hope so. Possibilities here.
peering at me through eyes of haze, No. Silly language again. Glazed would be acceptable. Through eyes glazed. Cliche trumps clumsy everytime. Glaze/tiles / urn might be interesting. Your poem.
recognition does not register.
as I stand, stoic and solid, I wonder Now you know what a sentence is the next lesson is the  next letter. It should be capitalised and it should not be "as". Drop this pointless little word. Of course, you mean simultaneous in time...but what else could you be?
I stand, stoic and solid, wondering
which of us has truly gone fishing?
Which of us has a misplaced mind?
...OK. Take it or leave it...I say again, your poem.
which one of us has truly gone fishing,
which of us has seemed to
misplace any sense of mind. Left like this it is windy-wordy.

I lay beneath cotton and threads, Is this a poetic blanket? If yes, it isn't. If no, what is it?
the television blares in the hallway,
colors flicker on and off my doorway. in my doorway? Proof read..Please!
I lay still, clenching and unfurling fists, You are beginning to sound like a small island off the west coast of Scotland famous for its whisky. Still, you are thinking this through and  "seeing" the poem. To avoid the "clenching and unclenching fists" cliche, it is not enough to simply stick in an alternative word...especially an inaccurate one. Unfurling...sheeesh!
afraid that the madness that lingers
in the air, all around me, Excellent. EXCELLENT!... but lose one  "that", by using "lingering"
might seep into my skin as a I sleep,
and that I might awake with eyes like
kaleidoscopes, living in various shades
of blunt and brittle reality [/b]

[b][b][b]You are in credit with the madness in the air line....but how did we end up here? I think you have something conclusive to say but you messed up. It is not over. You should have another shot at this. Imagery is everything in thought-poetry. After all, that's all there is. You can do it if you think about it.

Best,
tectak

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