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Poem: Baking for Him

Poem: Baking for Him

baking for him

Written by Manika Harikumar.

Trigger Warning: Abuse


One cup of flour

I want you to be safe, he said, when he gave me an 8 P.M. curfew

One half cup of sugar

We only need each other, he said, when he cut off my friends

One stick of butter

Never lie to me, he said, when he demanded all my passwords

One teaspoon of vanilla

I’m so sorry, he said, when he shoved me into the wall

One stick of cinnamon

Never again, he said, when he slapped me for the first time

Two beaten eggs

Marry me, he said, when I threatened to walk away

One bar of dark chocolate

Let’s have a baby, he said, when he made me quit my job

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One pinch of salt

This is your fault, he said, when his punch made me miscarry

Two scoops of nutella

I failed because of you, he said, when he was fired from work

One tablespoon of cyanide

Here, have some brownies, I said, after he hit me for the last time

 

~Manika H.

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  • Reply to The Sadomasochistic Feminist Poem “Baking for him”.

    Poem: Baking Him
    He shoved me to the wall, the Hindoo way. He struck my face, once.
    Showed me he did care. How lovely. Oh me, oh my!

    I am so sorry he said. He made me feel wanted, so much alive when he hit me again.
    Never again, he said when he slapped me across the face
    Yet again, once, twice, thrice. Oooffh!

    I wanted to walk away but felt so weak in the knees, reaching out to him, pleading, crying.
    He struck so hard then. He really must love me I thought trembling, my whole being.
    Wet to the knees wanting, desiring him even more with every strike.

    He said marry me as he beat me black and blued, Over and over again.
    Like love’s kisses showered. Signs of his love allover my body and me.
    Please, please more, I called out. I wanted him I cried.

    Aah! What relief to know to be desired so, sleepless all night.
    Aroused, I tossed and turned. Rolled over him.
    My lover boy. In ecstasy … Om’god!

    Wanting him, with every slap his love signed, I wanted him even more.
    He loved me so. All of him, all night. All night long.
    Omg! Oohh!! Oohhh!!!

    Burnt toast. A pinch of cyanide in his morning coffee ended the foreplay.
    I came in exquisite delight, seeing him writhing on the floor.
    Blue in the face, twisting, convulsing, thrashing, around.

    In grimace, in deaths embrace, my lover boy lay on the floor, dead!
    Will do for dinner, baked tonight.
    Bon Appetite!
    Orgasm!

      • Mmmm! Not quite, Sweety. I’d say, long pig. Slow roast on open coals, turned slowly done evenly, topped with barbecue sauce. It will hold the juices in, nice and tender. Trust me that would be a lot more tasty and good for him. Boiling, too bland for my taste. Too gentle for him. Leave him stringy. Not enough satisfaction for the chef 😉

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