Awkward Years

[ariii]

I'm a little nervous to post a poem for the first time, but here goes ~

---

Awkward Years

I am twenty two and mania has abandoned me
leaving twenty pounds in its place, sandbags around my hips
and waist. I wonder
if the orange curls snaking from under my fast food visor
are secretly ugly
and no one is telling me
if the scars on my arms are obvious, or not,
and if the adult-onset acne taken home on my chin
will ever fade back to freckly white.
I do everything for an audience, even this lousy poem,
and nothing in private.
My internal dialogue is constantly dissected
by the part of me who "knows better",
twice a day I swallow salt pills
and hope they won't kill me
before I learn to live, really,
and

I miss the girl I was
self assured in her social worker shoes
not buffeted
hospital to hospital
gurney to gurney
pills in her belly
too many, too many.
I miss hot days in the city
where the steam rises from the sidewalk
an aura of freedom
riding the twelve bus downtown
past Voodoo Donuts.
Now, all I have
is a dog and some daydreams
visions of grandeur laid to rest
at the foot of my former insanity.
Who was she,
this girl with the shoes, the smile, the cardigan
half buttoned
and where can I find her
and do I want 
to bring her home?

[albinododobird]

Thanks for being brave and sharing this!

I instinctively want to change some of the lineation. For instance, in the first few lines, I would write it thus:

I am twenty two and mania has abandoned me
leaving twenty pounds in its place,
sandbags around my hips and waist.
I wonder if the orange curls
snaking from under my fast food visor
are secretly ugly

At the end, I think I would change two lines:

Now, all I have is a dog
and some daydreams

I like how you refer to the poem as "this lousy poem." It really successfully communicates a sense of insecurity.

I'm not sure about the use of the word "buffeted" in the beginning of your second stanza. It means "to hit or strike" something, but you're not being hit or struck from hospital to hospital or gurney to gurney. It's possible you're using the word in an unusual way, but if you are, it's not clear.

I'm also not sure if I like the "and" at the very end of your first stanza. I don't think it's necessary.

[Lizzie]

I'm a little nervous to post a poem for the first time, but here goes ~

---

Awkward Years -- I would re-imagine the title. There's a lot happening in the poem with hospitalization and painful transitions, and I think that "awkward" doesn't quite do the weightiness of these things justice. Unless you were going for deliberate understatement, and then I like it

I am twenty two and mania has abandoned me
leaving twenty pounds in its place, sandbags around my hips
and waist. I wonder
if the orange curls snaking from under my fast food visor
are secretly ugly
and no one is telling me -- I know the feeling well.
if the scars on my arms are obvious, or not,
and if the adult-onset acne taken home on my chin -- This is such a mouthful and doesn't read well to me. I'm wondering about the "taken home" bit -- is it something you took home from the hospital, or is it something that has made its home on you? Or both? It's not clear to me which you mean.
will ever fade back to freckly white. -- fleshing out (oh, puns!) the questions posed explicitly at the end.
I do everything for an audience, even this lousy poem,
and nothing in private. -- I think you could cut this line, given that it's already implied in the sentence above.
My internal dialogue is constantly dissected
by the part of me who "knows better", -- These two lines come out of nowhere for me. The rest is recognizable as symptoms or side effects, but this one doesn't seem to relate to the material around it, unless I'm missing something.
twice a day I swallow salt pills
and hope they won't kill me
before I learn to live, really,
and

I miss the girl I was
self assured in her social worker shoes -- I like how this line reads. Lots of lovely S's!
not buffeted
hospital to hospital
gurney to gurney
pills in her belly
too many, too many.
I miss hot days in the city
where the steam rises from the sidewalk
an aura of freedom -- Freedom is so abstract and vague -- it's hard for me to visualize what you mean by that.
riding the twelve bus downtown
past Voodoo Donuts. -- These two lines are good detail and mark you geographically. The only Voodoo Donuts I know of is in Oregon, but I may be wrong.
Now, all I have
is a dog and some daydreams -- I don't hate the line for what it is, but it feels a bit like singsong and stands out in a stanza that seems to be more about wistful remembrance.
visions of grandeur laid to rest
at the foot of my former insanity.
Who was she,
this girl with the shoes, the smile, the cardigan
half buttoned -- "cardigan half buttoned" is the kind of detail you need to go back and add more of to the poem. Add as many specific details as you can. This helps the reader "see" you and your world.
and where can I find her
and do I want 
to bring her home? -- These are the core questions of your poem, as I see it. I like ending with some mystery, but I also would love to see these questions addressed in the poem itself. Ending it this way does leave me with a sense of the poem being unfinished.

Thanks for sharing!

[Todd]

Hi ariii, welcome to the site! It's natural to be nervous. Let me give you a few comments below to consider.

You have a number of lines I like here (I'll point some out below). On a first pass, I would look to pare down what isn't necessary. If it doesn't impact tone or content it can probably be chopped. The poem on the whole is a bit wordy in this draft.

I'm a little nervous to post a poem for the first time, but here goes ~

---

Awkward Years

I am twenty two and mania has abandoned me
leaving twenty pounds in its place, sandbags around my hips--example: in its place could be substituted with behind.
and waist. I wonder
if the orange curls snaking from under my fast food visor
are secretly ugly
and no one is telling me
if the scars on my arms are obvious, or not,--or not is probably unnessesary.
and if the adult-onset acne taken home on my chin--taken home could probably be cut.
will ever fade back to freckly white.
I do everything for an audience, even this lousy poem,
and nothing in private.
My internal dialogue is constantly dissected
by the part of me who "knows better",
twice a day I swallow salt pills
and hope they won't kill me
before I learn to live, really,
and

I miss the girl I was
self assured in her social worker shoes--self-assured is a tag that you haven't proven. An action may display this and imply self assured. I like social worker shoes though--good detail
not buffeted
hospital to hospital
gurney to gurney
pills in her belly
too many, too many.--This last sequence was nice. I liked the stacatto details and the cadence of it.
I miss hot days in the city
where the steam rises from the sidewalk--great line
an aura of freedom--This is again a bit of shorthand. Show the freedom somehow in an action or image
riding the twelve bus downtown
past Voodoo Donuts.
Now, all I have
is a dog and some daydreams
visions of grandeur laid to rest
at the foot of my former insanity.
Who was she,
this girl with the shoes, the smile, the cardigan
half buttoned--like how you condense this sequence.
and where can I find her
and do I want 
to bring her home?--You might be able to play with the earlier dog line to set up your ending a little better.

Second half is better than the first. Though if you pare the first down I think your poem would pop more.

I hope some of that helps.

Best,

Todd

[justcloudy]

This is a lovely first post and one you should be proud of (much better than so many on here, mine most definitely included!)

In your poem do you a good job of bringing in little details, as lizzie pointed out, and like her I'd encourage you to find some more of those to add in and replace the few abstractions you have that weaken it. I also agree with Todd that cutting out some of the filler lines will give the poem a stronger punch.

One thing, and perhaps this is just me, is I feel like there's more to the story than I was able to glean from the poem. The speaker is now working at MacDonalds but was a social worker, and the fall from grace was due to an illness? That's what I got, and it doesn't seem quite right/complete. Having a bit of mystery is fine but you don't want your readers to come away scratching their heads. And that's exactly why workshopping is so great-- you don't have to guess what the readers will think, because we tell you. ^_^

If you go back and edit your poem, which I hope you do (because after all why else post it here?) please edit your original post and put the second version at the top so we can see it!

-jc

[LunaDeLore]

I'm a little nervous to post a poem for the first time, but here goes ~

---

Awkward Years
I am twenty two and mania has abandoned me --------- Not sure if beginning with  I complements the work; you could omit I am
leaving twenty pounds in its place, sandbags around my hips
and waist. I wonder
if the orange curls snaking from under my fast food visor ------ I really like this line
are secretly ugly
and no one is telling me
if the scars on my arms are obvious, or not,
and if the adult-onset acne taken home on my chin ------ This line doesn't read as smoothly as the others. As a reader I need something to soften the course between  onset and acne
will ever fade back to freckly white.
I do everything for an audience, even this lousy poem, ------- Not sure how this fits with the previous line
and nothing in private.
My internal dialogue is constantly dissected
by the part of me who "knows better",
twice a day I swallow salt pills
and hope they won't kill me
before I learn to live, really,
and

I miss the girl I was
self assured in her social worker shoes
not buffeted
hospital to hospital
gurney to gurney
pills in her belly
too many, too many.--------- One too many is enough or it's like two-to-too many.
I miss hot days in the city -------Not even sure how this fits in.
where the steam rises from the sidewalk ------How does hot days move to stream rising from the side walk? Where did the steam come from?
an aura of freedom
riding the twelve bus downtown
past Voodoo Donuts.
Now, all I have
is a dog and some daydreams
visions of grandeur laid to rest
at the foot of my former insanity.
Who was she,
this girl with the shoes, the smile, the cardigan
half buttoned
and where can I find her
and do I want 
to bring her home? ------- I like how you ended, good work.

Enjoyed reading your poem; the ending most of all. I think you have a line or two that may value the poem more, omitted. They just take more away from the poem's message. The work could also use some shaping up. Nevertheless, good work.

Luna

[Vanity]

Hi!
I'm new here too (-: I really, really enjoyed reading your poem. To me it was like a poetic characterization --and I like that. I do believe I got the story...I had a friend in high school ....mania=bipolar and salt=lithium ....am I right? It can be an incapacitating problem , I believe. But she said sometimes after she started the meds , that she didn't feel herself. I was never quite sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.
I do think it would benefit from pruning and tightening with the edits already mentioned. I'm not always a fan of rhetorical questions, but I must say I loved your ending. It's the inner thought inside the narrators mind. A difficult question, without a short answer.
Great visuals, extra weight, orange curls, cardigan....I get a picture, and a feeling.
Overall a great job. I hope you post an edit.
Good luck-V

[rhymeguy]

I too am new here. I lack Vanity's insight . I read this without any preconceptions. 
First let me encourage you.  Never give in to the fear of posting. We are all here because we want to share our thoughts and skills. We want to learn and grow. 

I am not one to critique form or structure. If I can read it easily and gain a vision from it then the poem has done it's job for me. 

This poem is a pleasure to read and has a universal message.  Some circumstances may be more extreme than others. Once we escape the teenage years of self-loathing or self admiration we are tend to reevaluate. This process continues for the rest of our lives. Do I like me now, did I like me then, if then was now how would I feel about it? All questions most of us process routinely. 

I especially like 

"Now, all I have 
is a dog and some daydreams 
visions of grandeur laid to rest 
at the foot of my former insanity. "

Great line. Please continue to include us in your journey.

[Hennessy473]

Hi - new here and new to critiques, but I'll give it a shot. I enjoyed this very much. I feel like I know this woman, who looks in the mirror and hasn't quite reconciled the self who is looking back with the one she remembers. She's got some regrets, some losses, she's not sure how she ended up where she is, and even if she could go back, would she want to bring home the girl in the shoes, who betrayed her the first time around?

Some of the phrasing felt a little clunky to me. I don't have any great suggestions for how to fix it though - I tend to have the same problem. But here's a couple of lines that I think would have more impact if they had better flow.

if the scars on my arms are obvious, or not,
and if the adult-onset acne taken home on my chin

My internal dialogue is constantly dissected
by the part of me who "knows better",

Best of luck to you - I really enjoyed this!

[bluegypsea]

I'm a little nervous to post a poem for the first time, but here goes ~

---

Awkward Years

I am twenty two and mania has abandoned me
leaving twenty pounds in its place, sandbags around my hips
and waist. I wonder
if the orange curls snaking from under my fast food visor
are secretly ugly
and no one is telling me
if the scars on my arms are obvious, or not,
and if the adult-onset acne taken home on my chin
will ever fade back to freckly white.
I do everything for an audience, even this lousy poem,
and nothing in private.
My internal dialogue is constantly dissected
by the part of me who "knows better",
twice a day I swallow salt pills
and hope they won't kill me
before I learn to live, really,
and

I miss the girl I was
self assured in her social worker shoes
not buffeted
hospital to hospital
gurney to gurney
pills in her belly
too many, too many.
I miss hot days in the city
where the steam rises from the sidewalk
an aura of freedom
riding the twelve bus downtown
past Voodoo Donuts.
Now, all I have
is a dog and some daydreams
visions of grandeur laid to rest
at the foot of my former insanity.
Who was she,
this girl with the shoes, the smile, the cardigan
half buttoned
and where can I find her
and do I want 
to bring her home?

Thank you so much for sharing!  This is a raw, evocative piece of poetry that really speaks to me personally, as I've struggled with depression and bipolar disorder almost my whole life.  I love the line "is a dog and some daydreams".  It really speaks to the voice of the poem.  However,  I'm not personally too fond of "...even this lousy poem", just because it seems to me that it subtracts from the mystique of the poem, if that makes sense?  I had a great overall impression of the poem though; great job!

~blue

[billy]

it can be daunting but it does get easier. hi and welcome ariii.
no heavy crit just a few ideas. go through the poem and remove everything that adds nothing. if you have to think if something adds or doessn't add to the poem for more than a few seconds the odds are it can be removed. an example would be [i am] the me at line end makes [i am] redundant and weakens the opening line. in line two; [leaving twenty pounds in its place, sandbags around my hips] [s in its place] could be removed.
where you can use an image/metaphor or simile try to do so, [sandbags around my hips] is an image but you can strengthen it with the waist; [and a dunlop round my waist] is one example. use tyre manufacturer of choice. watch out for a lot of the 3 letter words that drag the poem down specially the last two [and's]

I'm a little nervous to post a poem for the first time, but here goes ~

---

Awkward Years

I am twenty two and mania has abandoned me
leaving twenty pounds in its place, sandbags around my hips
and waist. I wonder
if the orange curls snaking from under my fast food visor
are secretly ugly
and no one is telling me
if the scars on my arms are obvious, or not,
and if the adult-onset acne taken home on my chin
will ever fade back to freckly white.
I do everything for an audience, even this lousy poem,
and nothing in private.
My internal dialogue is constantly dissected
by the part of me who "knows better",
twice a day I swallow salt pills
and hope they won't kill me
before I learn to live, really,
and

I miss the girl I was
self assured in her social worker shoes
not buffeted
hospital to hospital
gurney to gurney
pills in her belly
too many, too many.
I miss hot days in the city
where the steam rises from the sidewalk
an aura of freedom
riding the twelve bus downtown this gives depth to the poem and the trials the 1st person is going through
past Voodoo Donuts.
Now, all I have
is a dog and some daydreams
visions of grandeur laid to rest
at the foot of my former insanity.
Who was she,
this girl with the shoes, the smile, the cardigan
half buttoned this and the line above create a great image in my minds eye, i can almost see her
and where can I find her
and do I want 
to bring her home?