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    poetry


    dots Submission Name: a letter to his whoredots
    --------------------------------------------------------





    Author: freeradical
    ASL Info:    22/feline/london
    Elite Ratio:    5.26 - 311/405/63
    Words: 316
    Class/Type: Poetry/Longing
    Total Views: 1048
    Average Vote:    No vote yet.
    Bytes: 2153



    Description:
       


    Make the font bigger!! Double Spacing Back to recent posts.

    dotsa letter to his whoredots
    -------------------------------------------


    fuck.

    (i know it's less than eloquent
    but it's the only thing i can
    think of, that does not require
    pages of exposition)

    i wish i could say to your face
    what i write to your back.

    i am tugging with fortune
    and nearing dangerously close
    to the mud puddle in the middle.

    the life i live in my words
    is the one i wish the world could see.

    the one
    where you actually give a shit.
    and aren't involved with
    whatsherface, or whatever
    flavour of the week it is right now.

    i was pistachio.
    strange, but charming and
    entirely too whimsical to not
    fall in love with the archetypal villain.

    my fervent wish,
    is that i'll show up at your wedding
    to the girl you think is right,
    with a red dress
    (red's really the only appropriate colour,
    i'll never be dull enough for white)
    and you'll realize
    that if you don't leave with me now,
    forever will be a few short
    months,
    and long years of alimony checks
    away.

    if not that,
    that you'll show up at mine,
    a commitment ceremony on some
    godforsaken island somewhere
    with monkeys flinging poo
    and you'll drag me back
    into sanity,
    and make love to me
    in your expensively appointed
    condominium,
    and we'll stain your hardwood floors.

    what i'm most afraid of
    is that neither will take place,
    and i'll be lulled in complacency
    and it will remain,
    as it is now,
    that the only time i feel any ounce
    of passion or life within my prison
    of a body
    is when i think of you.

    passionless is a horrible way to be.
    just
    lie to me.

    an imaginary world where
    you love me,
    over this cold and lonely night.

    but
    even in the poems,
    you never love me back.




    Submitted on 2007-12-16 20:33:28     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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    ||| Comments |||
      That ending works amazingly. It crashes things so dramatically; as if you're trying to finish a jigsaw puzzle only to be reduced to a wreck - flinging your arm and brushing off everything from the table. It's tragically beautiful without having the need to create beauty because you already know - or at least appear to know - that the right elements are already there so you just let them affect you. And you mix your imprefections with them to give that nice finishing touch that makes it all the more human.

    Anyway, I've wrestled with this feeling so many times, to want something that you can't have no matter what you do. It's almost overwhelming. I know of people who died because of it. And while it is easy for some to say that these people are merely being mellow dramatic and weak, I can't help but understand it. After all, it does make perfect sense; you give all that you can to someone and when that person/thing doesn't reciprocate or he/she/it makes it seem as though he/she/it can't reciprocate, you are left with one question; what now?

    And everyone knows that "what now?" can lead to the worst of "this is it."

    From what I've read from you, I think that you're voice is clear; it is strong, uncompromising, it's cigarette scratched and beautifully cynical. Why beautifully cynical? Because you can sense a longing for hope... a glimmer of knowing the possibility that things might change for the better after somebody reads your written... um... personification.

    And that is not as easy to project.

    | Posted on 2007-12-17 00:00:00 | by ANGELO | [ Reply to This ]
      I would finish with:
    Then if you can't say you love me
    in a poem of your work,
    I say get the hell out of here
    you slave drivng jerk.
    | Posted on 2007-12-17 00:00:00 | by realpoet | [ Reply to This ]
      That is the saddest thing I've ever read. Maybe I'm just too sensitive tonight, but it made me cry.
    I love the wording and descriptions and... everything. It's all perfect.

    "what i'm most afraid of
    is that neither will take place,
    and i'll be lulled in complacency
    and it will remain,
    as it is now,
    that the only time i feel any ounce
    of passion or life within my prison
    of a body
    is when i think of you."

    That's the part that really got to me. I've been thinking the same thing for the last several years. It's unbearable, but you said it beautifully.

    "but
    even in the poems,
    you never love me back."

    And that made me cry even more.
    Haha I'm an emotional wreck.

    Anyway, I really love this. Sorry I have no critiques or anything useful. I wouldn't change a thing.


    -nikkki
    | Posted on 2007-12-17 00:00:00 | by Razor2TheRosary | [ Reply to This ]
      The life I live in words
    is the one I wish the world could see

    is such a rivetting thought! Maybe these are the best lines!

    It's not a love poem, it's a poem about a garbage relationship that's interfering with your love life. I often want to say that, and this time I did even if it's too personal! Sorry. But hey, all that heart and all feckin wasted ... it's a story of entertaining pathos all right; but why the heck are we so eager to be characters in soap operas??? Can the creativity for poetry be put to use as creativity for one's own benefit?
    | Posted on 2007-12-16 00:00:00 | by Glen Bowman | [ Reply to This ]


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    154495

    Be kind, take a few minutes to review the hard work of others <3
    It means a lot to them, as it does to you.


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