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Bruised Cervix
by Aaron BlairLove is a bruised cervix,
the same way love was fingers
curled around a palm,
fingernails engraving the details
of your anger into your pliant flesh.
You would tuck me into bed
and tell me to wait until tomorrow.
You only wanted to hit me when you were calm.
You built the altar of my body
around the pain that it could know,
the anxious waiting, imagining what would come.
Now he breathes on my neck,
mouth to skin, soft when it should be sharp,
lips and tongue when it needs to be teeth.
He only wants to fuck me when I am calm,
but I want to wake up tomorrow
with an ache between my legs,
free of dread, the punishment already over. 06/01/2011 Author's Note: So, I read that the sexual desires of most people are programmed by whatever kind of childhoods they had. My father used to hit me. I'm a self-injurer. I like rough sex. To quote Robyn, "Love hurts when you do it right. You can cry when you get older." Anyway, my dad used to make us sleep on it when we were "bad" so that he wouldn't hit us when he was angry, because, according to him, he'd hurt us worse if he wasn't calm when he punished us. I think he just wanted to torture us by making us go to sleep anticipating the punishment to come. He liked to play with you, like a cat with a mouse, my dad. So, obviously, a poem about your father that's also explicitly about sex is kind of creepy, but that's my wheelhouse. I'm creepy.
Posted on 06/01/2011
Copyright © 2024 Aaron Blair
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Mo Couts on 06/01/11 at 02:38 PM Ooohhh...it makes perfect sense that we enjoy sex and other things that remind us of our childhoods. Mine was filled with pain, too, so I tend to go towards things that evoke the same thing or take the hard way for life. Either way--this is a stroke of GENIUS. |
| Posted by Vikki Owens on 06/02/11 at 05:37 PM wow. powerful and true. its amazing all the different ways a bad childhood can mess you up. my mother used to make us pray to god for forgiveness before we were going to be punished...i always prayed fervently for a long time...but it only made it worse because i knew what was coming. now not only do i feel the same about rough sex, but god an i arent on speaking terms. |
| Posted by Ava Blu on 06/02/11 at 10:25 PM (Not to take away from the pain here, but I like creepy.) I never thought of the correlation between such things. Perhaps that explains something person for me, too. I love this. I would love to hear you recite it. |
| Posted by Kristine Briese on 06/03/11 at 04:06 PM Oh, yes. My stepfather used to hurt me and force me to like it, if that makes any sense. I have no sex drive left anymore, but when I did I liked it with older men and I liked it to hurt. Perfect poem, as usual. |
| Posted by Scott Utley on 06/07/11 at 12:45 AM You can't be as young as you are and write like this. This kind of courage takes thousands of years to develop. |
| Posted by Clara Mae Gregory on 06/08/11 at 08:01 AM This is such nice therapeutic poetic venting.Kudos |
| Posted by Bertram Sparagmos on 10/21/12 at 07:13 PM A woman's relationship with her father sets the tone for all future male interactions. It makes perfect sense. That's the shrink side of me talking. I came from a physically abusive family, and not in any variety of controlled manner. I still struggle with the desire to inflict pain, so that I don't become someone destructive as well. It often seems that the world wants and expects me to be that destructive person, though...
Anyway... a great poem is a well framed emotion, and this is certainly that. Well done. |
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