My Last Man
The last man I was with helped me feel small
An attempt to make his soul seem tall
At first enthralled
What I found in his arms would make my mother appalled
My love for him filled me with shame
He would not call to hear me say his name
Our Love was his private game
He did not wish to see my face
I was not fit to share his space.
The last man I was with refused to share his light
And made me feel like I was creation's blight
He hid me from his inner world's sight
Too lost to see I was his tool
Never would he consider me a jewel
His private whore
Hidden behind a cast iron door
Illegal contraband
Not allowed through customs and into his land
The last man I was with would not eat from my hands
Offered different brands from bottles + cans
The food I prepared,
Were my cooking methods impaired?
I could not comprehend
Why me he would offend.
Why my loving labor was ignored?
While the gap between my thighs he kissed and adored
Deaf to the rhythm of my heart beats
Would never hold my hand and walked down streets
What's my favorite color?
From whence do I draw my power?
The last man I was with shielded all he did
All that he called sacred he carefully hid
He demanded that I obeyed his law
And I started to mistrust what I saw
Never dared to care where I lay my head
What I did to pay for my bread
He passes judgment from above
No empathy, not a dropp of love
He has moved on with nary a sigh
Dismissive. No, not even a proper goodbye.
The last man I was with Insulted my essence
And did not want to publicly share my presence
With me he did not want to be fused
I was just another tool to be used
Harsh words, never rarely kindness
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poem by Monciana Edmondson
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