meagan. (pinched) wrote in __amatory_verse,


Post-partum Wears an Iron Dress

Today is the end of my life, I
gave birth to an iron dress.
I'm stained with her infantile stench
and the father's alcoholic kiss.

Time goes by so slowly
when you're trying to suffocate yourself
into realization.
I'm a whore
to an ugly drunk, a mother
to a pile of screaming fecal matter.

Even besides that pleasant aroma, I could never
touch her. She's everything
I'll never have again; everywhere I'll never
be able to go.

I feel her pressing, cold and hard,
against my tired body,
and act as if defecating her onto
the operating table wasn't enough.
She screams for my breast like I
owe it to her, like I asked for her,
the beast in my belly.

Copyright: Meagan Jeanette 2005
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