Cigarettes And Whiskey And Wild, Wild Women
(from a song)
Perhaps I was born kneeling,
born coughing on the long winter,
born expecting the kiss of mercy,
born with a passion for quickness
and yet, as things progressed,
I learned early about the stockade
or taken out, the fume of the enema.
By two or three I learned not to kneel,
not to expect, to plant my fires underground
where none but the dolls, perfect and awful,
could be whispered to or laid down to die.
Now that I have written many words,
and let out so many loves, for so many,
and been altogether what I always was—
a woman of excess, of zeal and greed,
I find the effort useless.
Do I not look in the mirror,
and see a drunken rat avert her eyes?
Do I not feel the hunger so acutely
that I would rather die than look
into its face?
I kneel once more,
in case mercy should come
in the nick of time.
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Comments about this poem (Cigarettes And Whiskey And Wild, Wild Women by Anne Sexton )
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
William Ernest Henley
Did you read them?
- The day my angel died, whole world cried, The lonely wanderer
- the day I get to call you mine, The lonely wanderer
- No goal, hasmukh amathalal
- gud bye my love, The lonely wanderer
- गोरबो इसिँनिफ्राइ- 77, Ronjoy Brahma
- Ordinary Goddess, GRANT FRASER
- u and I are never alike, The lonely wanderer
- Truth and non-violence, gajanan mishra
- If I Die Young, John Billy Tumapon Yucot
- Not even birds, hasmukh amathalal