He asks me the same little favour
Swallowing my pride once again
Let him escape the world through me
But what if the cost is my pain?
We go through the usual motions
But we both know where it will end
Quietly preparing myself
Till I see him begin to descend.
Clothes stripped away, sharply
Love means nothing here
It’s him breaking free of his life
Trapping me, holds me near.
Letting him lose himself inside me
I feel like his perfect drug
Hard thrusts, rubbing, rough hands
No tenderness or a hug.
When it’s over, he’ll roll over, spent
I’ll be kissed, thanked, cast aside
He’s so warm and cold at once
Never even noticed I cried.
I want to help him, I care
But isn’t there some other way
Or maybe this really is best
Can’t get through with all that I say
But I still can’t shake the feeling
That I must be something more
Than a pile of crumpled clothes
Lying, crushed, upon the floor.
© 2002 Priyan “Phoenix” Meewella
the only poem I’ve written from a female perspective.