I'm far too nervous to show this poem to friends, so I though this would be the best place to get constructive criticism. It's my first attempt in a long time, and I'm not really sure how to go about writing poetry, so any insight is much appreciated:
MEMEORIES OF BEING CONTENT
The first time I felt content
Was in a small house on Achaill Island
I was thirteen, and at last at ease in a group
A first with female company anyway.
Perhaps it was acceptance masked as contentment.
The next time I felt content
Was midnight, the summer I was sixteen
Basking under stars with bellies facing up
Like lizards longing for sunshine.
Perhaps it was promise masked as contentment.
The last time I felt content
Was sinking into an armchair, the start of my twenties
The weed smoke swirled around my head
The haze filled my nostrils and dragged my eyelids
And the bad conversation of good friends wafted over me.
It’s been a blur of emotions ever since:
Shame; guilt; attempts at redemption.
Trys, mistrials and thoughts of a dramatic end
Crashing through my third floor window.
And from my self pitying slump
I long for contentment; masked as anything.
MEMEORIES OF BEING CONTENT
The first time I felt content
Was in a small house on Achaill Island
I was thirteen, and at last at ease in a group
A first with female company anyway.
Perhaps it was acceptance masked as contentment.
The next time I felt content
Was midnight, the summer I was sixteen
Basking under stars with bellies facing up
Like lizards longing for sunshine.
Perhaps it was promise masked as contentment.
The last time I felt content
Was sinking into an armchair, the start of my twenties
The weed smoke swirled around my head
The haze filled my nostrils and dragged my eyelids
And the bad conversation of good friends wafted over me.
It’s been a blur of emotions ever since:
Shame; guilt; attempts at redemption.
Trys, mistrials and thoughts of a dramatic end
Crashing through my third floor window.
And from my self pitying slump
I long for contentment; masked as anything.