Plantation Wife

You know the type

She stares with eyes glittering malice

She cares little for your body, bumping and jarring it as she passes

She believes her path should be made clear, trotting the lane in expectation

She seethes at the beauty of your crown, your polished mahogany, your gentle curves—

All features she’s enamored with are noticed with the same keenest of eye by her man


Her pain wielded as a tool to turn him against you— if he already wasn’t

Jealousy ensuing her to seek her self-uplifted man

Surely he will enact regulations to cast such a treasure before his lady’s feet

Trampling in hate and rage

Lightly lifting a pampered foot to sink the heel deep into the soft flesh of neck

True his pedestal may be fashioned from gleaming wood, setting him high on the judgement seat above all else,

But hers was crafted from the schemes of her mind—

Yielding, chocolate bodies cushion her seat, keeping her in lofty heights of protection 

His angel

His madonna

His helpless goddess that he cannot contaminate with his heathenistic desires


Fetid— the smell of them alarming in its continued evolution of ghastly gruesomeness

It makes her cruel as he

Slim yet curvaceous by design, She glares at the figures she longs for 

Sucking in and setting her teeth as whalebone steals her breath

Someone will pay for her pain

Why should she have to endure such

The world is hers

All are to cater and attend her needs

She’s a delicate flower, fragile as the blue and white china cup she sips from in superiority

She only looks up fro it to scold

To criticize, to chastise a being she sees less than—

Unwittingly she illustrates a truth she’d rather keep hidden, 

She wants more of them and less of herself

This is the way of things

It’s how it should be

She isn’t to have a care in the world

Eyes of a hawk, she peers below at a stain blemishing her pedestal

Sharply she calls to have it cleansed immediately

How can one reign over beasts with he blood of their bodies soiling her cushions and very presence

These creatures were made to serve, alleviating her of any cult or feelings of wrongdoing on her part

Why should one feel anything but delight when the world is one’s oyster

Delicious things; tinged with the salt of the waters they come from

Bathed in tears from those underfoot, she delights in the salty taste, having developed a taste for them as well

An aphrodisiac, a precursor to an already abundant spread that’s life

She’s dined like royalty for centuries

She’s squeezed the breath from her lungs, painted beauty into her face and emptied her mind of everything—all for him

She lives for his pleasure and therefore finds pleasure in sharing his cruelty easily

Stripped bare

Back flayed open

Thrown in a hole or a box

Strung up to twist in the wind like the last leaf clinging to a tree in Autumn

Her teeth are brilliant diamonds, glittering at your pain

Her eyes, sparkle at your demise

She is in ecstasy,

Though not of the same kind as her master

For he is hers as well as the others

He rules over her as he rules over the land with an entitled hand

All is his

He’s made it so

He freely takes as a monarch is want,

Fertilizing the land with the only tool he’s willing to put to work—an instrument he’s only to happy to wield.

Pillaging intimate spaces unwelcome to him, he aims to spread his seed over vast territory

He aims to control more land

More bodies

More wealth

He slacks his lust with a weapon more ripping than the whip

More destructive

He finds pleasure  in the destruction of his property, for it produces a far better yield than toiling in creation

More bodies, more pleasure, more wealth, 

A cycle he’s fond of and one of the only things he’s willing too create

Rutting is his right,

whatever is borne of such force is mere inventory—a free addition for what was paid for at the auction block 

She sees, she knows, the world is hers

But her man is rooting around the fields, sneaking between doorways in the house

His work product filling both indoors and out

She takes her revenge with a smile for him and a smile for her prey

The blade

The whip

The ability to steal choice away

These instruments of wickedness have become her feast 

And she is royalty

She will dine as much as she pleases

11.3.19 10:55AM

Published by Prncsslyssa

Big heart, big hair, big smile, big dreams

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