To the Self-Described Young Up and Coming Poet Who Tried to Steal Rachel McKibbens' Poetry
You were aiming for a prize but
You tried to lift something
You cannot lift
Something that took seven years to write. Or forty-two to survive.
You tried to lift something
That was the languaging of someone else’s survival.
Something that took seven years to write. Or forty-two to survive.
You cannot call it your own, though.
That was the languaging of someone else’s survival:
Ink and blood.
You cannot call it your own, though
You did pay someone to push ink through a needle into your arm,
Ink and blood,
Marking you forever.
You did pay someone to push ink through a needle into your arm,
Something to be remembered,
Marking you forever
As a thief. A thief of words, a would-be thief of memory and blood.
Something to be remembered,
Though not the way you expected.
As a thief, a thief of words, a would-be thief of memory and blood,
You are almost as small as your broke-down regurgitated poetry.
Though not the way you expected,
This has undoubtedly been educational for you.
You are almost as small as your broke-down regurgitated poetry.
You tried to steal a real poet’s truth, but her truth is bigger.
This has undoubtedly been educational for you.
You can’t carry off that kind of truth.
You tried to steal a real poet’s truth, and her truth is bigger.
You were aiming for a prize but
You can’t carry off the kind of truth
You cannot lift.
You were aiming for a prize but
You tried to lift something
You cannot lift
Something that took seven years to write. Or forty-two to survive.
You tried to lift something
That was the languaging of someone else’s survival.
Something that took seven years to write. Or forty-two to survive.
You cannot call it your own, though.
That was the languaging of someone else’s survival:
Ink and blood.
You cannot call it your own, though
You did pay someone to push ink through a needle into your arm,
Ink and blood,
Marking you forever.
You did pay someone to push ink through a needle into your arm,
Something to be remembered,
Marking you forever
As a thief. A thief of words, a would-be thief of memory and blood.
Something to be remembered,
Though not the way you expected.
As a thief, a thief of words, a would-be thief of memory and blood,
You are almost as small as your broke-down regurgitated poetry.
Though not the way you expected,
This has undoubtedly been educational for you.
You are almost as small as your broke-down regurgitated poetry.
You tried to steal a real poet’s truth, but her truth is bigger.
This has undoubtedly been educational for you.
You can’t carry off that kind of truth.
You tried to steal a real poet’s truth, and her truth is bigger.
You were aiming for a prize but
You can’t carry off the kind of truth
You cannot lift.
no subject
Date: 2018-12-02 10:59 am (UTC)(and you are missed)
no subject
Date: 2018-12-02 02:56 pm (UTC)I like this a lot:
You tried to lift something / That was the languaging of someone else’s survival.
no subject
Date: 2018-12-02 04:28 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2018-12-02 05:58 pm (UTC)"YOU DO NOT GET TO LIFT ANYONE'S WORK. but you ESPECIALLY do not get to fucking steal how I language my fucking survival." -- Rachel McKibbens
no subject
Date: 2018-12-02 06:27 pm (UTC)I had not known this had happened until I saw your post, so thank you the heads-up! Also—
You were aiming for a prize but
You can’t carry off the kind of truth
You cannot lift.
—that's very good.
no subject
Date: 2018-12-02 06:42 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2018-12-02 07:03 pm (UTC)P.
no subject
Date: 2018-12-02 09:50 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2018-12-03 02:48 am (UTC)Tuesday I go over to a local bookshop and pick up my copy of McKibbens' book, which is waiting for me there now.