Take my shoe, take my shoe/Electra Complex

Coiling hands, white and blue
Why do you listen to this douche canoe?
Insisting wills, her mother and bapu
How can you order a girl what to do?
“In Kitchen, clean my face, body and toe,
Go now, wash my shoe, wash my shoe.”

Father, tyrant, you slithering krait
Look at reason, truth, daughter’s fate.
Barefoot, naked, outside your porch
Hear the drunk, loner, jabbering in Scotch
“In Time, you’ll fuel my wrath, aura and coup,
“Wait, wait! Don’t take my shoe, don’t take my shoe.”

Dancing hands, white and blue
Isn’t he the one who beat and hurt you?
Chiding words, flames and taboo
Aren’t the gods freeing wings in glue?
“I will not move, hunt or pursue
“Daddy, I want your shoe, I want your shoe”

Scoundrel, mongrel, you filthy snitch
Where’s the ice, bandages, on your bitch?
Innocent, virgin, she was once
Now a whore, unclean and dunce.
“I will deal with it. Anger’s overdue,
“Now she wears, just my shoe, just my shoe.”



5 thoughts on “Take my shoe, take my shoe/Electra Complex

  1. Exactly what I was going for in the poem. The fourth stanza is purely from assumptions, of the second narrator: the drunk guy. I showed it to a friend before publishing it and he felt I was showing a later stage of Stockholm Syndrome and sexual abuse. The whole poem is held on the interpretation of the ‘shoe.’

  2. Thank you for stopping by my blog. This one reminded me of when my father, a man much loved despite his human frailties, was dying. I wrote this for my sisters in whose care he spent the last few years of his life:

    “Wipe my mouth, please,”
    asks the frail old man with a crooked, snaggle-toothed grin.
    Responding; the adoring sprite smilingly grants his simple boon.
    With arms too weak to embrace his child his deep-set eyes engulf her in grateful warmth.

    “Wipe my mouth;”
    his further loss of strength and increase in pain makes his demand curt, cutting deeply into her soul.
    The young nymph feels the stinging rebuke in his command but concedes to his demand:
    The day has been long, making his old tongue short.

    “Wipe mouth!”
    The exhausted sprite reels in shock from the stinging slap of his command:
    The life-giver, the father, her alpha, now wrapped in impotence, wracked with pain, writhing from uncertainty delivers searing stripes to his faithful daughter.
    With heavy heart his mouth is wiped with the gentle caress of ephemeral butterfly kisses.

    Is all he croaks, yet with this single word volumes of displeasure, disappointment, and dissatisfaction are delivered.
    The muse full-fills her task and more as she bathes, caresses, soothes and protects his failing flesh.

    No command leaves his gaping maw as his breath in ragged, laborious exhalations sustains his once strong form.
    His arms lie slack, his swollen, pain racked legs are pillowed in protective covers from the cold.
    His daughter seeing spittle on his lip hears his tender request for help.

    With a soul overflowing with love she tenderly wipes his mouth and holds his warm yet unresponsive hand.
    His loving, sincere thank you echoes in her mind as she feels his strong, supportive arms about her.

    “You’re welcome, Daddy,” she whispers in his ear. “I love you, too.”

  3. Wow. Nicely written, and thanks for taking the time to create this brilliant piece.

    It’s weird how people see what they want to see and are blind to rest of the features of a person. Sometimes it’s great; when you are the person receiving all that attention and love, but other times, when you are the person giving it, there’s a widening gap between the love given and the love taken. I think all complexes originate from this imbalance. One starts to give more, expecting more, at least something, anything, in return. And slowly, those instances carve out a personality that is hard to erase.

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