Details |
Cerys Care Poem
I am heaven and I am not welcome here now
and I know it will take some time until I am again
i'm unsure if my gates will ever open wide enough for you to slip through
though you can stare at them
locked
for as long as you please
even though it makes my mouth dry and my blood rush like rapids, running south
you can watch them glow in the dim light of my mother's living room
unsure if it's divinity or smooth slick along the bars
like black ice ready to toss a car to the wolves at a moments notice
on a school run
I wish I wasn't your very own girl
your kiss felt everywhere but my lips
your eyes burning through the same soft ready flesh to my tongue
hot, wet and heavy where it sits in my mouth
I have never see this heaven,
all I am to you
open your heart and show me if I am so very important, or at least let my cold hands scratch at the back door without reprimand
you've spread me thin like butter, soft and left on the side for too long
you've nailed me down with gentleness
and yet despite all this
my insides all out for you
the unnatural purity of the whole ordeal
your worship (the very worship that churns my insides and makes bile rise, sickly sweet in my throat)
i'm still unsure of who sits behind your eyes,
a man, a master
a dog tied to a street lamp shivering in the cold
snarling
desperate
hungry
Copyright © Cerys Care | Year Posted 2024
|
Details |
Cerys Care Poem
I say sorry as I feel the best I've ever felt
Moaning my apologies into the hand of a man that I know will never hold me with any tenderness
Willing forgiveness from a God who will never grant it
Hoping that someday, in the arms of someone else
I can find some small semblance of purity
I do my hoping silently
among all the noise and the sweat and the filth I've brought upon myself
I take what I can get
Maybe I'll even learn to want it someday
Copyright © Cerys Care | Year Posted 2024
|
Details |
Cerys Care Poem
Every time I piss on that little plastic stick I lose something.
An archer struck down on a battlement, a coin from a rich mans pocket, not enough to really feel it but enough to know it's gone. Something is.
Every time I let him cum in me I’m waving my white flag. Even if i ask him to, beg him to, I admit defeat.
To be a mother is to lose. From the point of conception to your last breath, you lose.
Your body is theirs to live in and reap for all they need.
Your thoughts are theirs, on them, or their thoughts.
Your health is in those tiny hands of theirs
.
And your love, your careful, gentle love, now raging red like an overfed hearth, will be theirs.
Whether they want it or not. Whether they take it or not.
It will rip from you and follow them like a curse.
And still, I ask him to, beg him to and admit my defeat. I piss on that plastic stick and hope, deep down, it will be my undoing.
Copyright © Cerys Care | Year Posted 2025
|