Losing
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
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