Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
May 2018
He,
standing on my doorstep,
         it is only
He             who i open the door for.

He    steps in,     standing
     n o n c h a l a n t.
i offer,
offer to Him scalding tea
     with poisoned biscuits.

His fingers  taper
tapering to            claws,
claws that run along my collar
    collarbones

undoing my collar,
undoing my buttons down,
  d
       o
              w
                            n
and o! He unclasps the fishing hooks
where He wounded me                      so long ago,
the once open gashes now
      scars! scars! keloids and scars!

fear, fearing, i feared,
i knew He would be disgusted,
my impure skin, with bUmPs
and so many im pur ities,
      no longer am i blank,
blank slate,
                extra ****** olive oil to sear with.

and still, He ravages my flesh,
the flesh with purpose
purpose to summon Her,
      life.

He rips my insides, allowing
wilting, withering away,
    losing first blood was so long ago.
  the last i bled a month ago,
                  yet i need not fear fertility.

He is welcome,
He is here!
He uses me,
eats me,
inside me,
becomes one with me,
and then
He leaves.

His next visit i await.
speed wrote this in twenty minutes for a creative writing prompt in the form of a poem title in english class because i'm still just a lowly highschool student who wants an a* on their english gcse
cher
Written by
cher  19/Non-binary/Singapore
(19/Non-binary/Singapore)   
  737
   --- and ---
Please log in to view and add comments on poems