first of five

[eeevaaa]

let us begin with an explanation: when i was five i thought
male pattern baldness was because of a yarmulke i imagined 
you wore and you never really wore it at all so i don’t know
how i wound my way to that explanation but it was enough 
for me. here was you, maybe covering your head once or twice 
a year, and here was your hair, thinning and silvery, paleness 
glittering with some type of remembered shame. i didn’t know 
what you were ashamed of—just that it shouldn’t’ve been 

enough to hide your fragile ego when yelling at the sky. yes 
you sinned but if anything you should’ve covered your 
head in mama’s presence, not god’s. which one of them can 
still hear you when you laugh? which one of them hid in the 
dark alone, waiting for faceless hate to find her and her 
forgotten? i know you were left in the dark, too, once or 
many times, blooming bruises up along the curve of your 
skull, blood rusting on the car fender. they’d knocked your 
teeth out and it smoothed your syllables in an otherwise-jarring 
mouth and i don’t want to know how the red tasted on your 
bitten tongue but when mama tells me the tangle of bone was 
because of your nose i can’t help but think they beat the shame 
into you. then sometimes there is a twist in my gut. god’s chosen 
people, mama jokes. i’m still waiting for it to be funny. if we

were chosen to be humbled we would be humble. if we were 
chosen by a kind god we would be kind, and yet—         here i am, 
reconciling my blood with dust in a girl’s hair. chosen unravels
in my lap like a chess game thought out by a kindergartner and 
your bald head is shining in the sun, glinting with all that shame. 


wrote this one a whiiiile back. gotten lots of feedback on it already but more eyes can never hurt. stay respectful and i'll stay grateful xx

[rowens]

As with your other poem, your stylization: long and short sentences winding through stanzas is effective. As are your shifts from and returns to subjects and details.
That's pretty much all poems, but yours draw appropriate attention to that stylization with an effectively appropriate tone.
I don't need to describe, as you either are aware and skilled at it, or you are doing it spontaneously which is all for the good.

[tun]

let us begin with an explanation: when i was five i thought
male pattern baldness was because of a yarmulke i imagined 
you wore and you never really wore it at all so i don’t know
how i wound my way to that explanation but it was enough 
for me. here was you, maybe covering your head once or twice 
a year, and here was your hair, thinning and silvery, paleness 
glittering with some type of remembered shame. i didn’t know 
what you were ashamed of—just that it shouldn’t’ve been 

enough to hide your fragile ego when yelling at the sky. yes 
you sinned but if anything you should’ve covered your 
head in mama’s presence, not god’s. which one of them can 
still hear you when you laugh? which one of them hid in the 
dark alone, waiting for faceless hate to find her and her 

forgotten? i know you were left in the dark, too, once or 
many times, blooming bruises up along the curve of your 
skull, blood rusting on the car fender. they’d knocked your 
teeth out and it smoothed your syllables in an otherwise-jarring 
mouth and i don’t want to know how the red tasted on your 
bitten tongue but when mama tells me the tangle of bone was 
because of your nose i can’t help but think they beat the shame 
into you. then sometimes there is a twist in my gut. god’s chosen 
people, mama jokes. i’m still waiting for it to be funny. if we

were chosen to be humbled we would be humble. if we were 
chosen by a kind god we would be kind, and yet—         here i am, 
reconciling my blood with dust in a girl’s hair. chosen unravels
in my lap like a chess game thought out by a kindergartner and 
your bald head is shining in the sun, glinting with all that shame. 


wrote this one a whiiiile back. gotten lots of feedback on it already but more eyes can never hurt. stay respectful and i'll stay grateful xx

You are presenting an array of familiar topes;

Baldness + yarmulke confusion
Violence against Jews 
“chosen people” 
Shame, trauma, blood, bruises 

There is no sense of satire, irony or self-awareness. It feels simply as if - 'being you' and making a report about it, is enough. It feels as if you are simply saying - I am beautiful - and that is all I need to be. I don't need to try for more than that.'