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Rated: GC · Poetry · Women's · #1083242
WARNING: Some readers may find this poem disturbing.
I was born with two golden
Shackles on my wrists, eager slave
Girl, so keen to please.

By the time I’m sixteen,
Setting the table or stretching out
On the table are all the same to me.

Compliance keeps you safe, I comply, of course.
I obey all of Daddy’s commands, quick to humour and
Capitulate, like the obsequious souls in Caligula’s court.

My Daddy makes me jump, makes me scream
Makes me shiver, makes me cream
My pants.

Why? Well, there are so many
Reasons it could be.
You see, I was two, or I was three,

At night, in the dark, when my
Daddy would come for me,
Poking into me hard.

I am his for the taking,
The groping and the probing,
The biting and the burning.

Urgent, tobacco-stained fingers fumble and fiddle,
Clutch and squeeze, stealing and possessing me. I swallow
My pain along with it all, I swallow it down.

Quiet and compliant in the bed,
Spinning and twirling away in my head,
Deaf, dumb, and blind, completely gone.

Dutiful daughter,
Beautiful sister, and rather brilliant
Scholar I was but recto-

Verso lay the pleasures
Of the flesh and a needle full
Of coke. I grew up, stuffing

Needles and penises into me. I got
Bigger, got blinder and dumber,
Slicing my arms open to get a better view,

Shooting up smack to whack my
Mother and silence her shrieking,
Shut her up for good.

Prowling like a vampire, a hungry lioness, on my knees,
On all fours, I devour men and their floppy
Genitalia and I always want more.
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