So, this is an original poem I created when feeling exhausted.
Perhaps it will be clear why I don’t write poetry. 😂
Ps. I’m still with my hubby.
By Angelique Fawns
At the altar. Dressed in white. Like a piece of tissue paper. Young, fresh, and pure. Desired by my spouse. Adored by family. Admired by friends. So much potential. So much to give...
Comforting and caressing with my soft skin. Passion and absorption with my beautiful young body. All that rubbing. Add a few marks. Then comes babies. Sobbing, sucking, snotting. Blowing their sorrows onto your flesh. My tissue stretches. But I still give. Comforting, caring, and absorbing.
But now I’m stained. Crumpled. Less soft. Not young. Not fresh. Not pure.
The babies leave my nest. The husband leaves me for a fresh lover. An untouched tissue.
I’m no longer desirable. Crusty from years of use.
Within these folds are stories. Love. Wisdom. Desire. An old tissue still has worth. For what it has given. And for what it can still give. But invisible. Irrelevant. Trashed.
Look beyond the stains and stretches. I am still here. Standing in the church watching my daughter dressed in white. At the altar. Young, fresh, and pure.
(My daughter is too young to be married. This is fiction.)
You know who will probably never get married? Roxie Vega!
She is the personification of our wildest desires.
No rules. Wild adventures.
And only one chance to get the BOOK.
Grab your opportunity to be notified when the exclusive Roxie Vega adventure blasts off 🚀🚀🚀
Know another exhausted woman?
Share my little poem!
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