Bruise Faced Child: A Declarative Poetic Narrative
This is not a poem. One of the things I have learnt is that my writing, much like many things about me, doesn’t fit inside a box. I colour outside of the lines and often end up challenging systems, institutions, and social norms as a result of that. It seems resistance, rebellion, and revolution are elements within my molecular structure. Ingrained to walk against the grain.
Time and time again the feedback I get on my poetic narratives are too declarative. So I have decidedly to stop calling my writing “poetry.” I had only adhered to the term poetry because everyone else calls it “poetry.” From now on I will refer to my writing as declarative poetic narratives.
Here is piece that comes from my first manuscript: A Declarative Poetic Narrative of a Bruise Faced Child
This piece is called to the blogosphere tonight after I was flooded with several memories from my childhood. The brutal rape of my mother that I witnessed at a young age, the beatings I endured, and the lonely wandering on BC highways and the mean streets of down town east Vancouver. Sometimes the best way for me to push out these memories is to write declarative poetic narratives, other times to read my already written memories and only sometimes am I compelled to blog ’em.