"I don't know about you but I swear on my name they can smell it on me,
And I've never been too good with secrets."
You'll actually read where that line fits in. But, I heard that and I didn't know the song too well, so I didn't know what he was really talking about, but the picture I had in my head I needed to relay, I needed to put down. So I wrote a poem that I originally called...
Well, here I wanted to give cool trivia but I don't remember what I called it. But it wasn't called "Suspicions" till later. By later I mean like 45 minutes later on the plane, after I had gone to the bathroom and had time to think more.
Also, this is the first (and I think only) poem I've ever written that was purely fictional (metaphors, analogies, and other poetic devices obviously don't count when relaying emotions and feelings) and not from my own point of view. There may be one or two...yep I just thought of another. Ok, well it's still the first.
So, here's the poem posted by request (though later than would have been ideal) from the ride on a plane from Washington D.C. after listening to Death Cab while a Richard Gere movie played in the background that wasn't originally called "Suspicions" and is the first fictional poem not being spoken by, but still written by Nathan Glen McWherter and actually written on my iPhone instead of a cocktail napkin like all the greats (Hey! iPhones are the new cocktail napkins, give me a break! I'm just upgrading. Also I apologize for the run-on sentence, but if we were talking, it would have been exactly like that, so I felt the need to relay the sentence as would have been spoken. "Oh, relay is my word of the day!" Shut up, Niall!)
Anyway, here you go, I hope it makes sense. I added a line (more of a word) since I last let someone read it, and I think that line (word) clears it up a bit. We'll see.
Also, this poem is not featured in Bones of a Nightingale, so this is a kind of sneak peek to my second book of poetry.
Suspicions
1/3/09
The table bat not,
But echoed response,
And it made me laugh at his expense,
That his hands might hurt some
But the table was fine
And my pride grew tired.
He battered and pried
And left his shield to lie.
And I?
Adroit, sleeping my boredom to droll.
My eyes laughed, but my lips were as you have never seen:
Tight locked, hidden in frustration.
His patience died by my pleasure.
And dear, you would have laughed with me,
And I would be distracted and lost evermore because of it.
But his words, darling, lay empty.
And you would have laughed.
They wanted you strung up,
Tied to horses that fly
North, East, West, South;
Lying in a gutter with a hole through your brain.
My first words, that God would damn them to their lies.
They said you were in Quantico.
In Quantico that night you spent with your sister.
Your sister whom I have never met.
They said you stole secrets.
That you worked for the government.
A white hat, with a ridiculous salary.
But now your hat was black
Because it wasn't enough.
And he called you Diane.
You would've laughed.
He said he could smell you on my sweater.
And I've never been good at keeping secrets.
But I said you were with me that night
And we went to the fair.
I called him something I could never repeat to you.
And he hit me.
I laughed through blood and tears
And said to charge me
Or let me go.
He opened the door
And I left with three tails.
And my face fell
At my falling thoughts.
And you would've laughed.
Laugh with me, darling.
Laugh.
Well... Thoughts? Criticisms? Does it make sense what's going on?
