On the eyes that I’m trying to meet
Monthly Archives: August 2015
My mother’s wrists
all vein and tawn
retaining the dawn of youth
in their tender slender bend
forearms of fawn
And I’m drawn
to these arms.
Her withering charms.
Seceding from harm
in her weakening form.
She’ll be torn
limb from limb from the devouring
As the acid begins to replace her with tin
(the resemblance sets in)
I am in this sad spin –
As I’m turning and lurching
I’m perching on preaching
remember the teaching
that my left hand is my mother, and she was the first I ever had
If you open the door, you can stare at my tits
And I’ll smile with doubt, because I’m too used to it.
Licking lips linger on my own fallen jaw
Your swollen sexuality hits me so raw
But it’s okay if you compliment and tell me I’m hot.
This mouth speaks and talks, but you’d rather it not.
But you could be my new master!
My hips slip so quick, but my brain’s even faster~
Marble eyes roll down my body, then back in your head
Would you rather I smiled and nodded instead?
I do not feel excited when I feel your hot breath.
Just my sick lunch returning – you disgust me to death.
This ladies and gentlemen game is fucked up
when you’re left feeling good and I’m found throwing up.
If I don’t play along, your arousal is shot,
but a sculpture for your perusal is something I’m not.
The crude tainted welcome when you beckon, “Come in”.
When did being a woman make me less of a human?