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Jun 17, 2026
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Elizabeth
I come from humble beginnings,
beatings, slammed doors,
broken China, battered ribs.
I am the spitting image
of a cruel man.
My closest friend,
a cheap lighter.
My most intimate act,
a cigarette pressed softly
on my lips.
I pour whiskey on everything,
just like he did.
Elizabeth, why are you here?
You lead me into a diner.
Why do you stay?
We drink coffee.
You tell me you love the simple things.
You talk about work
and the things you hope to do.
I drink my coffee.
You love how I listen.
I am a liar.
I am rotten.
Yet, you smile at me behind your porcelain mug.
Auburn hair, pale skin, cherry lips.
You're fragile.
I'm a selfish bastard.
I wear cologne to hide the alcohol.
I don't smile.
It shows my crooked grin.
Elizabeth,
I am a lie my disguise wears
so perfectly.
— davidgambro31, Jun 17, 2026
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About This Poem
Last Few Words: Started writing last Christmas. Really into conversational freeverse. Say more with less, right?
Style/Type: Free verse
Review Request Direction:
What did you think of my title?
How was my language use?
What did you think of the rhythm or pattern or pacing?
How does this theme appeal to you?
How was the beginning/ending of the poem?
Is the internal logic consistent?
Review Request Intensity: I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Editing Stage: Final polish
Critiques
BlueSkies
1 day 13 hours ago
David,
This poem has so much depth to it. There is a wonderful contrast between the gentle presence of Elizabeth and the self-condemnation. Like you don't believe you deserve such kindness from another human, yet she sees you as you are, and not by your own inner thoughts...
The voice is steady throughout which gives it a very nice tone for the topic. Well done, I say. I look forward to reading more!
Welcome to Neopoet!
DSCHREIB77
1 day 7 hours ago
Hi David.I dont have a…
Hi David.
I dont have a critique here. I just like this. It's rare for me to find some brutal honesty and witty nuance. So much seems wasted on flowery language instead of relatable truth and images. This passage is gold:
I am the spitting image
of a cruel man.
My closest friend,
a cheap lighter.
My most intimate act,
a cigarette pressed softly
on my lips.
I pour whiskey on everything,
just like he did.
Kudos brother. Best thing by far I've read on here so far.
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