Why My Lips Don

’t Want To Kiss Again Essay, Research Paper

While reading ??What lips my lips have kissed?? by Edna St. Vincent Millay, I realized many about myself. The first thing was that I, after thinking I would never be able to decipher one word of poetry, actually could. I also found that I was able to enjoy it. Another thing was that the narrator (whom I felt was a woman- no man could portray these feelings like a woman) and I had strikingly similar feelings. There happened to be many other amazing findings, but these two were the first and most important to me.

Yes, learning that I could truly enjoy poetry was an amazing, but also, a highly involved discussion. One I would rather focus on at another time. I would, though, like to elaborate on the profound similarity I felt in with the feeling of the narrator. There have been many times in my life where I have done something that I am not proud of. (Most of these dealing with the men in my life.) Instead of working out whatever or whoever the issue might have been, I push it as far away into my memory as possible. This way I don??t have to think about it. This tactic works very well. I truly don??t remember faces, names or dates of these men. Then there are those days, those rainy lonely days, when these memories or as Millay refers to them, ??ghosts?? come ??tapping at my window and wait for me to give them a reply.?? It is these kinds of days when the ??ghosts?? force you to reflect upon them and don??t leave you alone until you do. These days can bring you to a very cold and lonely place.

When I have these days, I can??t seem to focus on one particular man, or boy or situation. All of them seem to be just one clump of a mess that has made me who I am today. It makes me feel very sad knowing that I used to be an

innocent girl who knew only that she wanted to one day fall in love with the man of her dreams, get married and have children. Basically she wanted the fairy tale ending. Now, as I approach the ripe old age of twenty-four, I can see that there is a reason why it is called a fairy tale. It doesn??t happen. Not unless your name is Cinderella and you were born in the land of Disney.

I must assure you that I am a very happy woman. I am successful at my profession, I am, or in the process of getting to a higher level of education, and I am very confidant. What I am trying to explain is that I have seen a lot of bad things happen in relationships with men. Yes, some have been good, for a little while. Yet I feel that I have wasted so much time on trying to find ??Mr. Right?? but I have been through so many ??Mr. Wrong??s?? I can??t even remember their faces, let alone their names. They all seem like one big enormous ??Mr. Wrong??. And even if I could, none of them really meant something to me. I might have felt that at one point I had loved one of them, but where has that ??great love?? gone? Was it ever really there? Will I ever feel it again? Do I even want to bother?

I believe that Edna St. Vincent Millay portrays the idea that yes, at one point she remembers having this feeling of love, but with many men that have just passed through her bed and are no longer heard from. I also believe that she was indeed hurt by these faceless, nameless men. To rid her heart from the pain of rejection she pushed these feelings away, as do I, only for them to come back and haunt her on those vulnerable and lonely nights. But, as strong and happy women, they can only get to us once in a while because that is all we will allow.


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