Summer Dawn Pond

The Cruelest Thing I Ever Wrote, For Your Mother - Poem by Summer Dawn Pond

Never did I think that you
As false and fixated on aesthetics as you are
Would be truthful in the things you spoke
To me on nights when condensation filled your car
It didn’t seem like much at the time
Seventeen, as you flagrantly violated me as a human
Not on a physical level but straight to my core
Your robbed me whole
You robbed me blind and you made me feel like a whore
Though I devoted myself
And dreamt of giving you wealth-
The thing I never had,
When you laid your fist on me
And in court acted haughty,
I truly knew you were bad.
So I don’t wish harm, or ill, or pain,
Or even small inconvenient things.
I only pray one day when you’re out and about
You may get struck with that same great pain.
That your daughter may love a man like I loved you,
And he’ll spit right in her face.
It’ll burn like hell, and probably swell,
A feeling that’s right quite like mace.
And you’ll feel the burn and you’ll live and you’ll learn
That these things that happened to sissy
Were only small pains and things your son did.
Please, sir, don’t call me sweetie.

Topic(s) of this poem: revenge

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Poem Submitted: Saturday, May 17, 2014

Poem Edited: Saturday, May 17, 2014

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