Poetry / Cocaine Housewife
The cocaine housewife is the type of woman
Who has upon her dresser
A photo of her three picturesque children
Perfect for their two dimensional mother.
And in the middle of this dresser is a picture of herself
Before her unfortunate habit.
Her Pearl
A joy and yet a constant reminder of what could’ve been.
She could’ve been happy.
Oh but she was happy now.
The cocaine housewife does not want to tell bedtime stories to her children
For she has told them to herself too many times that it breaks her heart that she once believed.
A handsome prince would come and save her.
He would save her and take care of her and her beauty was all that mattered.
There is only one story now.
The white fairy kisses her with a passion and gives her the strength
To serve her handsome prince
And live happily ever after.
The cocaine housewife gets no foreplay
But she pleasures herself enough.
Her masturbation is her constant search for perfection.
Her orgasm is being envied for that image she displays to the world.
Her prince enjoys post play that is quite rough indeed.
But she is the perfect wife.
She does not sob like an ugly cow
But whimpers and begs, a few graceful tears falling from her eyes.
She knows he enjoys this, and so it is.
The cocaine housewife is always immaculate but always out of place.
Her tight smile that is fraying at the corners
Makes some worry that it might tear.
Who is the mender of smiles?
Her sunlight hair is always curled so beautifully
Not a hair out of place.
Her children are not allowed to feel it.
They do not believe it is soft, but hard, hard as her heart.
Although it looks like an angel’s, it really does.
She is always stunning but somehow out of whack.
A strange stare will come across the table from a guest
And it will take her a moment to realize her nose is bleeding.
She will blush and chuckle, muttering some excuse and dab it with the grace
Of a cocaine housewife.
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Now that…deep. It sounds almost like something from personal experience. I really found myself feeling sorry for the “cocaine housewife,” seeing things through her eyes. It brings out the effect it has in her life as well, and does so in such a way that it’s almost like you’re living there with her just by reading the poem. Like an intimate outsider. Very good work, I commend on a job well done.
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