He calls you a whore,
who doesn't put out enough.
He cries when you're alone with him,
but around friends he acts so tough.
He'll say you can't be trusted with money,
For you, responsibly never stuck.
He'll remind you to stay in your place,
A silly little slut, who needs a good fuck.
Can't go out with your friends, he keeps you isolated and alone.
While he drinks and cheats and does as he pleases,
wondering what you do when he leaves you at home.
You just can't keep your legs shut,
And it makes him furious you see.
That's just something about you,
he finds so very hard to believe.
How dare you be desired,
with the audacity to possess a past.
He will accept nothing less,
Than first, all, and last.
So, you twist and you bend in ways that break bone, to fit to this impossible mould.
Of virginal purity, the goddess, the grace,
A perfection to behold.
Until one day, "You never fuck me anymore!" He howls right in your face.
Your sexuality lost even to you,
Repressed, controlled and replaced.
Damned if you do,
you're destroyed if you don't.
He swears he will change,
And you know that he won't.
Walking the finest line,
Between Madonna and Whore
Is where you determine,
there will be something more.
Lies become luminous,
As gas-lights are dimmed.
There, in your darkest dark,
You can see his cowardly sin.
Not a man, but a mouse,
Afraid of all he will never be.
Desperately scrambles to convince,
That he is your duty.
An impossible feat,
An ask so audacious you choke.
Those years wasted building, now nothing but smoke.
YOU ARE READING
Vixen Verse - An Eclectic Poetry Collection
PoesíaThe secret scribblings of a miserable mad woman. "Sometimes I write depressing shit and put it here." WARNING: Do not read if you seek happiness. You will find none.
