The Church – Trigger Warning- Poetry on Incest

The plush resurrection of my veins
Comforts me. The push of a steel crucifix
has fixed my clear, white eyes.
Still, I keep ties on my wrist,
The never-minded furrows in the field of flesh.
I have gone incognito. I am a priestess of pills.
A will has been erected.
They will jot over uncrossed
T’s and double-spaced grievances.
I have been raped by daddy dearest.
My legs, thrown apart, like a tormented ragdoll’s.
My arms, tethered in fine linen, with bruises to match.
Buckles, silver buckles.
My mind has slipped and has curled itself around
Hot coals. The stench of a burning childhood lingers
And sits in our lungs. It breathes. It breathes.
It lives, as you live.
Tall man.
Tall men.
I am the pearl left to suffocate inside a rotting oyster.
A letter from Saint Paul to the Corinthians:
The virgin bleeds.
And bled I did, blood of red,
Half-decade-young mare and I bucked over
To feel you rape me again.
Again.
Ten years of loveless love.
I bite down on the matchbox, lips dry
From starvation.
The least you could have done was finish me off.
By the time you fled into the white room,
Stroked yourself into a frenzy,
I was already buried in miles and miles of sheets,
Bleeding, writhing in confusion.
I am the sinning slut.
I’ve had enough practice.
Thirteen years of growing my breasts for your
Enjoyment. Thirteen years of a wasted childhood,
All for your 15 seconds of shame.
What will it be this time?
Remember how you threw the twenty dollar bill
At the church between my legs?
You said, “Good job. Not as great as last time.”
I took the twenty dollar bill and bought myself a
Journal from the children’s section of my favorite
Bookstore.
In my journal entries, I wrote how I wish you would
Stop
Raping me.
Then, you promised that you would start
Weaning yourself off of my scent, my taste.
I wrote one night in my diary that I was proud of you
For not using your tongue when you came to kiss me goodbye.
For this, I eat the pain-killers, the taste of bitter apathy.
For my fix, my clear, white eyes.
Strange, how I still needed to cling to your chest
Even while you destroyed my body.
I would rather imagine you loved me as you raped me,
Then realize I was just a piece of meat
For you to empty yourself into.

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2 thoughts on “The Church – Trigger Warning- Poetry on Incest

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