Sometimes I think the most powerful poems are the ones that tell a story. This is what I wanted to do with this piece. I wrote this a few years back and honestly, I’m unsure where the inspiration came from. I like the imagery of this piece, though – I focused a lot on that.
Of course, with all my work, I want feedback! Leave your thoughts in the comments below and thanks for reading.
Her hand fists around her seduction weapon
to hold her body up with her curves romancing:
the men who don’t see the weakness in her knees
or her sweat and aching, from all the dancing.
Or her burning stench of dirty cologne, on her
naked arms – just skin and bones – shaking like
they’re about to snap; her body’s about to collapse
but she doesn’t sit to breathe.
No, she sits on stranger’s laps, kissing at necks
as they plant a five or ten down the front of her pants.
And this is so her daughter, at the age of five
can have a roof over her head, as she closes her eyes
and a meal tonight, without the struggle she faced
when her father left her.
“I never wanted this kind of life.”
He is the reason she talks in her sleep,
dances weekend nights feeling tired, feeling cheap.
All because he made a promise he couldn’t keep.
One night of ‘short and sweet’ love
was more than he could possibly need.
And so her hand fists around her seduction weapon,
her curves romancing the men; her body dancing again.