Poetry
All poems are copyright protected by the author, Mildred J. Mils
01
Who Cared
When she pressed you to her breasts
That very first time, kissed your sweet soft
Cheeks and looked deep into your eyes
I wonder what she thought you would become.
When she rocked you tenderly, did she also sing
Or was she silent, staring into a dark lonely space
Filled with skeletons from long ago?
Did she soothe your swollen gums when you
Cried late at night with teeth raising hell in
Your tender little mouth? Or did the fever consume
You while you screamed all alone?
Did she hold out her hand when you took your
First step – or watch you fall flat on your face?
Did she walk you to kindergarten and cry as she
Let go – or push you out the door hungry,
Alone and afraid?
Who taught you about becoming a man, about
Being a teenage boy and staying out of trouble?
Did you ever feel loved or just abandoned and unwanted?
What turn in life brought you to this place?
When she pressed you to her breasts
That very first time, kissed your sweet soft
Cheeks and looked deep into your eyes
Could she ever have known that at age forty-five
Her precious child would be trying to survive
By fishing for food amidst garbage and flies?
02
Naughty Pleasure
The conspiracy’s to make women feel guilty
Make us think self-stimulation is sinful – filthy;
That sharing oneself with a big manly man
Is so much better than giving yourself a hand.
​
Well, let me tell you I enjoy a quick romp
With two trained fingers going slickety thump;
I’ve earned the right to pleasure myself
Without the hassle of settling for what’s left.
​
After football, drinking buddies, mistresses and such
What some men have to offer really isn’t that much;
Have you tried baby oil so smooth, soft and gentle?
I love the sweet smell – it makes me sentimental.
​
For days gone by holding my baby to my breast
Rocking in a chair feeling peaceful and at rest
What someone else thinks – I don’t give a damn
Pleasuring myself – I never disappoint.
03
Twisted
Ice cubes clinking
Red eyes winking
Foul breath stinking.
You can’t see what a fucker you’re being.
Little girl running
Tight body stunning
Firm legs pumping
New breasts jumping
Her eyes miss what the lecher is seeing.
With talons so swift
A skirt he lifts
Savagely defiling her sweetest gift
The vulture creeps; the young child weeps.
She breathes her last breath
He slithers away.