I held the door open
for you to leave
though
my words were slurred
i warned you
not to swallow me whole
I was
to be
sipped
but
you wasted me
and
as you walked away
you told me
the best
I had to offer you
was laying
in the bottom of
the empty
shot glass
sitting
on the bed stand.
Author notes
Written July 26th, 2006
What did you think
Comments
1 - 15 of 15
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Beautifully painful. Excellent piece!
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Who who who? Who did that? I'll kick their ass so hard. First step would be however to decipher the meaning of this poem. It's probably obvious but I'm a little brain dead presently. Had a very exhausting day today. Forgive me. But please do know that I enjoy this piece extremely muchosly much. Very glad that you entered.
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OUCH!!! I love hte inferrences and allusions...and, of course, your imagery is always powerful. But...OUCH!!! Harsh!! Tell whoever inspired this that they have to answer to me
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venessa-
this is excellent-
m
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I always did look better in a shot glass than a port snifter ~sigh~
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This is what comes of pouring drinks in a shot glass rather than a port snifter. Shot glasses are not for sipping drinks. They are more for the wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am, pound em down and no apologies sort of drinks...which is reflected in your poetry as well. Salud!
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Sometimes we have to get the door, open it, and shut it behind them for those who need out of our lives. They gulp the life out of us, then sip the pleasures of our residue. Your metaphors put me in a state of pondering. Very cleverly written dear sister. I feel you here. Excellent!
Much Love Always,
Renee
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What I think is apparent here is that people sometimes take from us that which was not theirs to take...while refusing what was generously offered. Sad...
Lorena -
Oh Monte you have no idea how much I needed that laugh. I do see that our version are alike...but strangely different
perhaps after a few shot of tequila with guinness chasers we can come back and read this together and see if it makes a difference?
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You know, I would have thought I would have written the following lines before you managed to conceive their appearance:
"though
my words were slurred
i warned you
not to swallow me whole"
Yep, those have a real Monte connotation to them, I must say. The major difference is that my version of a poem using them would have preferably started almost like yours, but written with the slightly different variation:
"I held the door open
for you to
get real naked real fast and tell me I'm a god and do things that even Paris Hilton would be embarassed to admit to, unless of course this was Paris Hilton who was walking in"
You can see how my version has just a slightly subtle twist on the verb "leave." I am not sure why, but mine I think reflects my masculine quality, whereas on the whole yours is more feminine. It's odd, because I do in fact use the word "leave" where necessary, so I really can't put my finger on the difference in the writing technique we employed in this context.
By the way, you do know that from my perspective it is a solid compliment for a woman to tell me that the best I had to offer was the empty shot glass at the end of the bed? I mean, that means she really, really appreciated the drinks I bought the night before, and probably sees the advantages to choosing Guinness over tequila for future reference. So I see such situations as raising educational opportunities.
Anyway, I really loved this poem, which shows we can think so much alike at times, with only the most subtle of differences in our phraseologies
Seriously, I DID like this poem, as I do all of yours Venessa. -
There is a devil in every berry of the grape.~ The Koran
A wonderful tribute to the reality of love and being alive, shot through with angst and sheer unbridled resentment: and yet, sometimes it is good to get off the wagon and get drunk. All right - especially if you drink of life the way you would wish to. I used to think that Keats' "the blushful Hippocrene" in Skylark was the epitome of getting drunk poetically, but this is equally potent.
It's not a longing for joy (as Keats' poem was) but a powerful expression of self.
I am much enjoying your poetry.
~ crisstiena
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a real honor to have you stop by my write and comment thank you
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So... the wine has aged well, the swirl has a potent tang - the after-taste dwells well into the mourning.
A real quality write. -
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See? Tequila/Gin - makes no difference. I'm thinking maybe prescription drugs...
This one is very good, Ness. I miss your writing - it always says so much with so few words.
Scott
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