She dances on the stage,
The cheap wood leaving splinters in her thighs,
Piercing her the way she's been so many times before.
She hides a grimace behind a mask made of lipstick-
Some of it black,
Some of it red-
And dances on,
The quintessential warped ballerina in her music box.
The dollar bills flutter down around her,
And she is marked by shame.
What more can she do?
She will not accept the way she has fallen,
So instead pretends that they are throwing roses-
Not 'generous' gratuity.
Yes, she dances on,
Adored by her audience,
Rather than lusted after.
Author notes
Option 1
A contest entry
- I'm a Bitch, I'm a Lover? by Poetic Obscenity.
1000 points, ended July 6, 2008, 41 entries
Honorable mention
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
-
Hmm...is this like a take on strippers/ or whores? Oh well. Good luck in the contest.
-
This is an amazing take on the picture. Seeing as i didn't think of a way to look at it myself..i'm seeing so many different versions of what it could be. I mean, this is by far the best.
This is brilliantly written. && it's an amazing concept. Great job.
"The quintessential warped ballerina in her music box."
AMAZING
=]
Thank you for your entry and Good luck.
Adding your comment:
