This is such an intelligent piece you've crafted. I love when poets find new & interesting angles for an ars poetica. I feel the opposition you draw between the ritualization (or deferred necessity?) of sharpening becomes the central pressure point { ;) } of this poem.
Your speaker is waiting until bluntness forces the issue, which I took as an enactment of insistence vs. refinement — rhetoric is driven out of us. You do a great job of reinforcing this with muscular, tactile diction: "pressed down hard", "graphite grinding", "hands cracking". These stylistic choices position the act of writing as abrasive. And to take it even further, you've enacted this with the formal weight, enjambement, and stanza breaks. Lineation itself says no to symmetry and polish. I love when a writer is attentive to such nuance.
You show a real mastery of social intelligence. The classmates' refusal to lend pencils becomes as much allegorical artistic gatekeeping as childish possessiveness. Love the idea of a "contagion" — I often worry my creativity is transmissible and corruptive haha.
This piece is quite musical, and I appreciate how it even kind of sounds ugly (I mean this as a huge compliment, and I know you understand that). You favor hard, dental consonants throughout, including some of the ones I mentioned before, but also "cramped", "scribing", "graphite", that enact the friction of the speaker. These alliterative clusters aren't pretty — they're very raspy and deliberate. Repeated gr and cr sounds grind like graphite against paper. Many of the vowels skew short and stressed, which doesn't allow the reader to relax with lyric elongation. You have a music background by any chance?
The "siphon their soul" final note is brilliant, and elevates your central metaphor to a place of metaphysical anxiety. The thought that true expression costs something irretrievable is a downright awful one for a poet to have.
Quick personal aside: In third grade, I was already certain I would be a writer. We had a timed writing prompt, and midway through my sixth sheet of lined paper, my pencil snapped and the tip of the graphite landed in my eye! Luckily, I escaped with just a minor abrasion, but your piece quickly returned me to that memory.
I love this idea that passion is messy. It snaps tips. It smudges the side of your hand. It leaves grooves in the page you can feel even after the words are gone.
This is such a simple yet weighted poem, just as how your unsharpened pencil would have written it. I understand the fear of your classmates. How can we trust someone who don’t take care of themself to take care of us?
This one does sneak up on you. I don’t know how else to explain it. A lot of resonance with this. The wild abandon. Being slightly on the outside of the group .
Hi Hanna!
This is such an intelligent piece you've crafted. I love when poets find new & interesting angles for an ars poetica. I feel the opposition you draw between the ritualization (or deferred necessity?) of sharpening becomes the central pressure point { ;) } of this poem.
Your speaker is waiting until bluntness forces the issue, which I took as an enactment of insistence vs. refinement — rhetoric is driven out of us. You do a great job of reinforcing this with muscular, tactile diction: "pressed down hard", "graphite grinding", "hands cracking". These stylistic choices position the act of writing as abrasive. And to take it even further, you've enacted this with the formal weight, enjambement, and stanza breaks. Lineation itself says no to symmetry and polish. I love when a writer is attentive to such nuance.
You show a real mastery of social intelligence. The classmates' refusal to lend pencils becomes as much allegorical artistic gatekeeping as childish possessiveness. Love the idea of a "contagion" — I often worry my creativity is transmissible and corruptive haha.
This piece is quite musical, and I appreciate how it even kind of sounds ugly (I mean this as a huge compliment, and I know you understand that). You favor hard, dental consonants throughout, including some of the ones I mentioned before, but also "cramped", "scribing", "graphite", that enact the friction of the speaker. These alliterative clusters aren't pretty — they're very raspy and deliberate. Repeated gr and cr sounds grind like graphite against paper. Many of the vowels skew short and stressed, which doesn't allow the reader to relax with lyric elongation. You have a music background by any chance?
The "siphon their soul" final note is brilliant, and elevates your central metaphor to a place of metaphysical anxiety. The thought that true expression costs something irretrievable is a downright awful one for a poet to have.
Quick personal aside: In third grade, I was already certain I would be a writer. We had a timed writing prompt, and midway through my sixth sheet of lined paper, my pencil snapped and the tip of the graphite landed in my eye! Luckily, I escaped with just a minor abrasion, but your piece quickly returned me to that memory.
This is really lovely writing.
JC… wow. Thank you so much for this, truly. I feel so seen, and so delighted that you caught all the nuances.
I’m also sorry to hear about your little third-grade eye!
I don’t have a musician’s background, just a deep love of cadence.
Thank you again for your thoughtful commentary, this will stay with me for a long time. ❤️
incredible
Thank you so much for reading Matthew!
Love this 📝
Thank you so much for reading!
I really love the metaphor of the sharpened pencil, I think it's really creative and descriptive. Beautiful poem!
Thanks Ariana! ❤️
I liked this.
I’m so glad! Thank you for reading.
I didn’t know one could write such beautiful words involving a pencil, but you did just that.
I love this idea that passion is messy. It snaps tips. It smudges the side of your hand. It leaves grooves in the page you can feel even after the words are gone.
Wow excellent poetry !
This is such a simple yet weighted poem, just as how your unsharpened pencil would have written it. I understand the fear of your classmates. How can we trust someone who don’t take care of themself to take care of us?
Thank you for reading Thea! ❤️
Love this! Just the way one uses a pencil can say so much, enjoyed how you described that. Felt the pencil pressing down on each page.
Thank you so much! ❤️
I was the same as a kid and now only use pens haha
This is good. Literal and figurative language speaks
Great metaphorical ride
Thank you Ray!
Growing up I struggled with perfection. But now I devour pages in seek of truth. The thrill of my pen running out of ink remains unmatched
It’s like your pencil carries your soul onto the page…
This one does sneak up on you. I don’t know how else to explain it. A lot of resonance with this. The wild abandon. Being slightly on the outside of the group .