***I wrote this poem 2 years ago when I finally came to terms with what had happened to me. Be aware that this can be a trigger poem.***
All around the world
from east to west
children celebrate their fathers
while I wish you dead.
you already are….
dead that is
although you haunt my nights
you haunt my memories
terrorizing me still.
Creeping and scurrying
hoping that none see
you stole my childhood
when all trusted you
to keep me sheltered.
I seriously cannot account
for the hatred that I feel
I would rather stab you in the heart
than acknowledge you as my procreator.
Did you think that I would fear
the gates of hell?
Did you think that I would not dance with the devil
if only to watch you burn?
It turns out
that I am capable of murder
for all the troubles you did cause
I have been promised
that when I arrive in Hell
I will be your tormentor
as you have been mine.
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Recently I began writing erotica.
Mom asked me what I thought was the cause of all the erotic poetry I have been writing. I have been thinking about it quite a bit and I think that I might understand.
When I was younger due to abuse I hid myself away.
I wore baggy clothes. Would not show my body if I had the choice.
Well I should not say that as I can divide my wardrobe into two distinct eras:
As a teen and young adult I wore short skirts. Tight jeans. My body was a walking advert for sex. I used it so men would like me. Hey I was young we all do weird things that we look back on and go what the hell was I thinking??????
From about 25 or so until I was 44 I hid behind baggy sweats.
Over sized tee shirts.
I did not quite know what I was doing although subconsciously I think that I might have.
I have always had a strange relationship with my body.
Days I look at myself and think ‘damn girl you look fine’.
And days that I look at myself and wonder what anyone sees in me.
That is my issue and I realize it stems from the abuse and lack of confidence in myself.
I am working on that.
One of my tells when I am feeling insecure about myself I won’t look people in the eye.
When I catch myself I have a conversation reminding myself that I am wonderful and have no reason to fear looking people in the eye.
I am a sexual being.
I am embracing this me.
No longer afraid walking in the sun caring not who looks and stares.
And it turns out that I happen to be damn good at writing erotic poems.
Picture via Pinterest