Delilah

This is from waaaaaay back, y'all: high school creative writing class, I think my sophomore year? The assignment was to write a poem in the Black Mountain/Appalachian style and, as I often did as a teenager, I turned in something kind of dramatic. It could use major rewrites, of course...but I feel the same way when I read it now as when I first wrote it, and I think there's something beautiful about that. 

Delilah

whitewashed door oh its

standin wide open cant see

you where did you go feels

like water rushin downhill

tumblin down in my ear

loud like childns laughin

hands hurtin like i got

hidden away an banged on

walls so someone could

hear me but only crazy people

get hidden away an you

wouldn do that t me

but then why d my palms

sting like lies on the tongue

did i hit you or did you

get too close t me my

mouth opens wider i

can hear you laughin out

o my own throat no im

screamin for doors t be

shut and hands not t sting

and you t be missin me.