MY LABEL

I brought to mother
A sticky yellowish substance
I found on my finger,
Digging itself into the middle-ear route
To roll the dice on the pain at dawn.

I took the pain to learn the holy word
At my elementary, I counted figures and letters
To raise my head higher,
But slowly I moved like a whelk in the circle,
When the stink drained from my earlobe

I never did too bad to all abuses,
Even when I couldn’t lay in my bed
I touched the scars she gave me
When I gave her what she didn’t ask me
Not knowing that it wasn’t a mistake.

About This Poem

Last Few Words: It's my stigma. As a result of a childhood accident, I'm hearing-impaired, but my parents and siblings didn't believe me. I was punished sometimes if I didn't hear what they said. This is my common say. "It's my cross."

Review Request Direction: What did you think of my title?
How was my language use?
How does this theme appeal to you?
How was the beginning/ending of the poem?
Is the internal logic consistent?

Review Request Intensity: I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back

Editing Stage: Editing - rough draft

About the Author

Region, Country: Osun, NGA

Favorite Poets: William Wordsworth

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Comments

Hello

Your poem seems somewhat unclear as to where you wanted to go with it.