The bone

[Dris]

You hear that everyone, without exception, chokes on the bone someday. And so you are careful. But then one day it slips into your lunch, despite how cautious you are.

And then the bone is stuck. And then your afraid of throwing up because what if you accidentally throw up all your insides. But then your also afraid of swallowing it down because what if your stomach explodes. And so you stay stuck, because being stuck makes you feel safe. But then being safe means you never get to taste the raindrops again or your birthday cake or the tongue of your lover or the texture of those ice cubes you used to lick with your cousin when you were kids and you were bored when the lights went out. 

And so the bone stays stuck and festers inside your throat like an untended wound until you can never taste anything ever again. Suddenly you realise that missing out on these things is worse than your stomach exploding or your insides disappearing.

And then you wonder if your stomach was ever gonna explode or if you were ever gonna lose your insides after all. And then suddenly, those two options don't even seem so bad anymore, and you realise, all along, that the bone was never the real enemy. Only your choices were.

[yourlocalaliyen]

I found your poem to be deeply moving, and honestly, I relate to it quite a bit. Fear can be like a shackle, and I think you described that very well here. The sensory images, such as "taste the raindrops again or your birthday cake or the tongue of your lover" are a good addition to your piece, because they describe how fear can cloud your judgement and hold you back from actually living your life. And the line "it slips into your lunch" is a good way to describe how fear is everywhere, and you can't avoid it or run from it because it will always be there. Overall, I loved your piece, and I hope you continue to write.

[Dris]

I found your poem to be deeply moving, and honestly, I relate to it quite a bit. Fear can be like a shackle, and I think you described that very well here. The sensory images, such as "taste the raindrops again or your birthday cake or the tongue of your lover" are a good addition to your piece, because they describe how fear can cloud your judgement and hold you back from actually living your life. And the line "it slips into your lunch" is a good way to describe how fear is everywhere, and you can't avoid it or run from it because it will always be there. Overall, I loved your piece, and I hope you continue to write.

Thank you. Your words mean a lot to me.  <3

[busker]

You hear that everyone, without exception, chokes on the bone someday. And so you are careful. But then one day it slips into your lunch, despite how cautious you are.

And then the bone is stuck. And then your afraid of throwing up because what if you accidentally throw up all your insides. But then your also afraid of swallowing it down because what if your stomach explodes. And so you stay stuck, because being stuck makes you feel safe. But then being safe means you never get to taste the raindrops again or your birthday cake or the tongue of your lover or the texture of those ice cubes you used to lick with your cousin when you were kids and you were bored when the lights went out. 

And so the bone stays stuck and festers inside your throat like an untended wound until you can never taste anything ever again. Suddenly you realise that missing out on these things is worse than your stomach exploding or your insides disappearing.

And then you wonder if your stomach was ever gonna explode or if you were ever gonna lose your insides after all. And then suddenly, those two options don't even seem so bad anymore, and you realise, all along, that the bone was never the real enemy. Only your choices were.

Hi Dris - I like prose poems. And this is a good start.
I think the metaphor of the bone has a few problems - if you don't swallow it or if it doesn't go away on its own, you die. Or you cough all the time. The metaphor doesn't work because the physical object it is based upon behaves in a certain well known way in the human body.
Otherwise, good one. The part in green is particularly nice.

[rowens]

The prose is very straightforward. There's a childlikeness that is understanding maturely and still a sense of being childlike in simple solutions.
The bone behaves as a Symbol rather than a Metaphor, as the prose recalls surreal and playfully serious predecessor prose poems.
The poem isn't surreal at all, and the childlike mature simplicity alludes without being at all explicit (or even aware) of the playfully unsurreal tone that it takes.

[Adarkershadeofgreymatter]

I definitely "felt" these words. I have had a fear of choking for as long as I can remember.
My first reaction, when something becomes "stuck" is to throw up.
But, if you can't throw up, how can you ever throw down.

[Dris]

You hear that everyone, without exception, chokes on the bone someday. And so you are careful. But then one day it slips into your lunch, despite how cautious you are.

And then the bone is stuck. And then your afraid of throwing up because what if you accidentally throw up all your insides. But then your also afraid of swallowing it down because what if your stomach explodes. And so you stay stuck, because being stuck makes you feel safe. But then being safe means you never get to taste the raindrops again or your birthday cake or the tongue of your lover or the texture of those ice cubes you used to lick with your cousin when you were kids and you were bored when the lights went out. 

And so the bone stays stuck and festers inside your throat like an untended wound until you can never taste anything ever again. Suddenly you realise that missing out on these things is worse than your stomach exploding or your insides disappearing.

And then you wonder if your stomach was ever gonna explode or if you were ever gonna lose your insides after all. And then suddenly, those two options don't even seem so bad anymore, and you realise, all along, that the bone was never the real enemy. Only your choices were.

Hi Dris - I like prose poems. And this is a good start.
I think the metaphor of the bone has a few problems - if you don't swallow it or if it doesn't go away on its own, you die. Or you cough all the time. The metaphor doesn't work because the physical object it is based upon behaves in a certain well known way in the human body.
Otherwise, good one. The part in green is particularly nice.

Thanks for the feedback !

---

The prose is very straightforward. There's a childlikeness that is understanding maturely and still a sense of being childlike in simple solutions.
The bone behaves as a Symbol rather than a Metaphor, as the prose recalls surreal and playfully serious predecessor prose poems.
The poem isn't surreal at all, and the childlike mature simplicity alludes without being at all explicit (or even aware) of the playfully unsurreal tone that it takes.

I'm not gonna lie I don't completely understand what your trying to say here. Is it OK if you can clarify for me?
I understood what you were saying until you got to "as the prose recalls surreal and playfully serious...." and onwards.

[rowens]

Prose poems don't have to recall anything. One thing they do recall, since they have so often been written this way, is a symbolic magical realism that's playful and deadpan.
The prose or plain language is dry and conversational, while the poetry part is working in a subtle way that leans toward the surreal without being so.

There's a literal bone of prose, a figurative bone of poetry, a bone as symbol that can function through the liminal creature that's a prose poem.

You can throw traditions out and do what you want. You can also engage with traditional uses of forms and other things to layer and mark meanings and tones that aren't explicit.
And even if you aren't doing that on purpose, you're writing with knowledge of language and poetry, so you're going to stumble into things despite your conscious intentions.

[Dris]

Prose poems don't have to recall anything. One thing they do recall, since they have so often been written this way, is a symbolic magical realism that's playful and deadpan.
The prose or plain language is dry and conversational, while the poetry part is working in a subtle way that leans toward the surreal without being so.

There's a literal bone of prose, a figurative bone of poetry, a bone as symbol that can function through the liminal creature that's a prose poem.

You can throw traditions out and do what you want. You can also engage with traditional uses of forms and other things to layer and mark meanings and tones that aren't explicit.
And even if you aren't doing that on purpose, you're writing with knowledge of language and poetry, so you're going to stumble into things despite your conscious intentions.

Ah I see, makes more sense now. Thank you for taking the time to re explain!

[Jebus dinglberry]

You hear that everyone, without exception, chokes on the bone someday. And so you are careful. But then one day it slips into your lunch, despite how cautious you are.

And then the bone is stuck. And then your afraid of throwing up because what if you accidentally throw up all your insides. But then your also afraid of swallowing it down because what if your stomach explodes. And so you stay stuck, because being stuck makes you feel safe. But then being safe means you never get to taste the raindrops again or your birthday cake or the tongue of your lover or the texture of those ice cubes you used to lick with your cousin when you were kids and you were bored when the lights went out. 

And so the bone stays stuck and festers inside your throat like an untended wound until you can never taste anything ever again. Suddenly you realise that missing out on these things is worse than your stomach exploding or your insides disappearing.

And then you wonder if your stomach was ever gonna explode or if you were ever gonna lose your insides after all. And then suddenly, those two options don't even seem so bad anymore, and you realise, all along, that the bone was never the real enemy. Only your choices were.

This poem reminds me of eating gar fish when I was 6yrs old ? i always ended up chocking on the bones. I couldn't cough them up and my body refused to let me swallow them. Like a physical impasse that demands a solution you can't commit to. Good poem though, I enjoyed it.

[Brokenangel1960]

Really enjoyed. Love the lines of never tasting rain or birthday cake. It really invokes a mood.
I personally feel the metaphor of the bone works. How an actual bone would react is unimportant we aren't being literal.
The indecisive thoughts of how to react when "stuck" makes perfect sense.
My only wish is that rather than paragraphs it was in an easier format to read with line breaks.