I have lost all of my good poetry to you.
You just love to take, take, and take
because the water in your heart has long evaporated…
You are damned to pluck fresh flowers
from every beautiful woman’s grave
disheveled and disgraced,
leaving her bones and planks and rusty nails and all…
Your women will sink ships with their tears
while I am moving on.
You have undone my poetry, its beauty, resilience, and madness.
…And what has become of my voice?
You are cursed!
Having torn my spirit limb for limb
with your twisted, violent sex
I became the holy ghost rising from my breast
as the blue of my lips searched desperately
for shades of flesh and warmth…
And for this I am a mother now-
the one thing to have made a difference,
and even though coming down from you
meant years of replacing my addictions,
I am never bitter for having to smoke my cigarettes outside
or for saving my scotch until my son is sleeping,
because YOU HAD TO BE THAT GUY
who demands to buy whiskey
after your wife’s water has broken and she whimpers
through the pain that it is time…
©2012 Jessica Stephenson All Rights Reserved