I shall inflict my poetry upon you all.
This one I wrote a long time ago, in high school.
Rape of Innocence
My delicate flower, my beautiful friend.
You walk in innocence before me.
You walk into my trap in innocence.
Your beauty, your breath, your pure loving heart.
I think to myself, a little further.
We reach the spot, an open glade by a pond,
And there,
behind you,
I have done it.
I’ve ravaged young girls,
I’ve eaten women’s souls.
For my pleasure,
your innocence will die.
You scream when I push,
landing hard on soft grass,
scream louder when I start on your clothes.
You are mine, my beautiful friend.
I grab at you,
nip at you,
gag up your mouth.
Your loving heart races with fear.
Your breath is so hot,
your beauty replaced
with a red crying face full of despair.
You huddle in a ball of bleeding,
dying flesh.
I have crushed you,
I have killed you,
you are dead,
my delicate flower,
my beautiful friend.
This next one I wrote several months ago.
Just Say No
You just couldn’t say no.
The pretty lights,
The laughter and the spinning sensation
You get when you slam that shot.
Damn bars are fun;
Especially all the guys hanging on your every word.
That’s why you bought that dress.
It makes the boys drool;
And you could have your pick of the litter.
Meanwhile, he’s waiting at home.
He always waits and he pretends he doesn’t care,
But it hurts.
You just couldn’t say no.
Hottie buys you another drink.
Why not, you think, it’s not that late.
After all, girls just want to have fun.
It gets in your head and time stops.
Everything is fun and you don’t have a care in the world.
Sure you can have another.
He wonders where you are.
He hopes you are okay, and he pretends it’s all just fine,
But it still hurts.
You just couldn’t say no.
After all, they passed you the joint again,
And you don’t want to be rude.
The ceiling has just become utterly fascinating,
And you realize that’s because you can’t sit up.
Someone lights the pipe for you,
And before you know it, you are Spaceman Spiff once more,
Flying through the clouds.
He watches and waits.
He knows – he hopes – you will be home soon.
He wonders where you,
And he hopes you are safe.
He is waiting for you and he will always be waiting.
For when is all is said and done,
He is still your son.
I was afraid of going back to living like I did before I had my son and using my family to enable that by always having them take care of him. I think I have found a fair balance for that. I don't go nearly as overboard as the picture the poem paints, but neither do I stay at home all the time hovering over his every move.
Current Mood: 
groggy ![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif?v=92.1){kind=small}
tirtailkinker's journal