EpigraMarch is a (yearly?) poetry challenge à la Inktober, started by me to replace what poet Savannah Brown used to call Escapril. It consisted of a list of prompts, one for each day in March, for which a poem will have to be written. Prompts are revealed one at a time on the day on which they are due. Post your submissions anywhere under the epigramarch tag to encourage participation and message me at telomagnetics@protonmail.com if you want a link to your submissions on this site. The following pieces were submitted by one such participant.
Do not look at me as I am now. Spare me a moment That I may twist my emotions Into neatly bottled literary agony That you should read And say to me, "You are understood." For, that's what I seek. An understanding without vulnerability. For my insecurity and confusion Not to be charmlessly laid bare When they can be repackaged into Something nicer. Of course I fear judgment. Disagreement without comfort. I know feelings cannot be trusted, And neither can my own flawed perspective, Yet, see how little I've evolved And still dare to build my fort On questionable foundation. Though I am harsh, My self ridicule is comfortable. I know this voice like a soul mate. Somehow, when it spews disdain, I can accept it like I'd received anesthesia. Let someone else be my judge, And the tragedy again commences. I report my perceptions with certainty, The case against me begins, I argue in my defense, Usually through carelessness Twist the prosecution's argument, Then have all my ills exposed In front of the audience and jury When i could have saved face And avoided the whole ordeal If I'd listened better at the start. For one so concerned with control, It regularly appears I have none. Not enough agency of the self To recognize poisonous sentiments And prevent their publication. Far too little to force myself present And hear each word as they are Without importing patterns of my own design. I trust my own understandings out of foolishness. What causes those who know my shortcomings To indulge my claim to be an expert in my own experiences?
If the wind blew hard enough, I would bend. If you explode with rage or hurt, I would crumble. Viewing myself clinically, I was convinced this would ensure my survival Somewhere in my distant past that Still holds me prisoner even in shadowy memory. Passivity meant the terrors would pass, and I could Resume searching for solace in a hostile home. Silent compliance and restricted resistance have made me Liked by those I do not feel the same in kind. Positive perceptions grow the more Flexible to changing whims I prove to be. And, what have I left? What challenge will I not back down from? The trouble with imaginary villains is that they Do not resemble the flesh and blood ones. Imagination has me valiantly standing tall in the face of Darkened figures with more strength and power, But I relish the difficulty because I know that my cause is just. I can draw ammunition from righteousness and Vanquish the easily conceptualized evil. Reality has me Fearing for frivolities like Comfort and consistency and so Giving in after flawed consideration. What cause sparks rebellion in me that Extends beyond words?