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
Daddy was a preacher
a high roller
in a small town
ranting his sermons on Sunday
living in sin the rest of the week.
I knew what his feelings were going to be.
many a time
but my heart was sure.
I sat before him
as he glared at me
demanding that I obey
abandon the one that I love
just because it would hurt his good name.
The first lash of the belt
that one hurt the most.
slowly he flagellated
each strip on fire
cruelty in his venom.
begged to be free
refused to let me go
tying me to my bed
while I screamed with horror.
In the dark of the night
as he snored in drunken slumber
I crept away
never turning around
never looking back
fleeing that house of pain.
I can show you the scars I bear
but I have worked hard
to put them away.
flood my nightmares
as I hear his roars:
‘You are an abomination.
God will love you no more.’