The House-Hold Hooker '05
For more, for less,
For much, much more.
A cook in the kitchen,
The bedroom a whore.
Smiles so varnished,
Completed and glossed.
Not tarnished, infected,
Nor forgotten or lost.
Eradicate all illusion,
I will prevail!
Let us become winners,
So they learn to fail.
Be Godly and wanted,
In knickers and bra.
Not kept under covers,
Or pickled in jars.
Words jump before me,
To slap you in the face.
So you can’t ignore me,
As I step in your place.
You want me to sit down,
Boiling quietly inside.
So you can floor me,
My legs, open wide.
My mother, my bastard,
Our God given rights.
My hang ups, my loses,
Determined to fight.
My brain, my head,
My mouth dried inside.
My fetus, my ovaries,
My legs squeezed tight.
My fingers, my toes,
They long for much more.
Secretly hating the Chef,
Whilst admiring the Whore.
Copyright © Naomi Jenkins | Year Posted 2008
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