Let the insanity in

Her body is naked, but so is her soul sometimes.

A black spot in the garden of disguised roses,
giving a part of her spirit to strangers,
a debt that shall never be repaid.
it's not something she chooses.
From the first blow of wind to the last snowflake, her skin a bewitching land of virtue that has no boundaries nor limits.
But can paper ever be a forfeit for love?
A blessed feather that falls on you from above?
The aroma of her brown hair will rush to your treacherous mind and find itself a room.
Her breasts at divine place of worship. Secret folds of warm flash,
a temptation to every inhibition you've ever known.
Would you hold yourself or let the insanity in?
Would you let the Luminous mist cover every mark of your existence?
And then you can't breathe, does holding your breath send chills down your spine?
So hold your breath, don't breathe and find yourself struggling from within.
Would you dare to smile or put on an act?
This is what it's like to be her.
But why does she let this happen to herself? Her misery a Prisoner to her will.
kept in a box someone else created
She is holding her breath exasperated.
She goes from Street to Street,
her dress barely covering her behind.
The small Mirrors in her dress can light up your eyes, casting the shadow behind. Shadow on her.
She is covered in shadows.
Don't let the insecurity in her eyes stale the petals of lust.
Don't ask her name first, it's no use anyway. It's not a real, just like her smile.
Her identity subject to perceptions not strong enough to stand on its own.
Call her sweetheart, babe Or love or just don't watch your tone.
She is spanked to desperation.
She is fucked to frustration.
The marks on her thighs, a proof of how easy it is for her to make someone lose control.
By playing a role or just a wink.
Or some cable ties and kink.
You can spank her to frustration.
You can f**k her to desperation.
She shouts in her perfect voice, "ride boy ride".
Yes, ride boy ride.
Ride her with all your manhood, watch it shrinking by her side.
Ride her with all your strength watch that power melting beneath her eyes.
She is a piece of art gone wrong.
A hard blow of a ceaseless Storm.
A fallen ray from the twilight Sky.
Selling her body for clothes, selling her smile for tears.
Burning by a match you light so her daughters stomach won't burn.
She opens her legs every time you look at her to hold what you can't anymore.
You are a pilgrim, she is a goddess.
Or maybe you are just a monster and she a lamb, more than willing to be slaughtered. Torn apart, from limb to limb.
She is selling her identity for survival.
But ask her name next time, her real name so we don't have to call her 'she'.
She is someone's sister, daughter, mother or wife.
She is drenched in vex .
She uses a tool called sex to counter strike the plight of almighty by selling her womanhood.
The parts he designed.
After all she is a woman and he a man.

Author's Note

Just sit down for a moment and think about all the times where you have sold yourself to people in ways you didn't realise.

Reviews

[T.S. Ulmus]

I love how you seamlessly cross the line between exploited and exploiter. She is simultaneously victim and assailant. That's not an easy picture to paint but you've done it here quite well. The rhyme scheme it's ambitious and you executed it nicely, you also have some lovely turns of phrases. All together, it's a good write.

[Ankita Dwivedi]

Thank you for your visit and words.. Really appreciate it, my friend..

[Anomitra Sarkar]

It's just really great. The best thing I like the portrayal of something indescribable and unbreakable can speak so much in its ways, trying to speak for her and still making the picture clear of what is a woman, you still wove the string of words that say the real life situations. It's just really good. Awesome.

[Chris Shaw]

The world of prostitution through the eyes of the woman. Strong write here. Evokes the emotions and questions the way these women are treated by their clients. They are not a piece of meat, they are someone's daughter, maybe someone's mother earning a buck to feed them. Don't judge them I say. You have not walked in their shoes. Powerful poetry.

Chris

[Laz K.]

It's not every day that one can really see things from a different point of view. Reading this poem does provide that experience. Just a minute ago I read another poem that compared fall trees losing their leaves to a woman stripping. That is the "male gaze." Your poem allows the reader to see a particular world through a woman's eyes.

[WasteDragon]

it's like being inside the mind of someone else whose mind I'd never otherwise be inside....along with a rhythm and poetry and it's a damn fine read. cheers.

[Ankita Dwivedi]

Thanks w...for visiting here.
Love, Ankita

[Paul Bell]

Nice to read a poem with total grit running through it.
Could be any country in the world and the story would still be the same.
Prostitution, could be straight out the bible at day dot.
As you say, we all prostitute our services, even if it's unwittingly we all do it.

[Ankita Dwivedi]

TRUE ! glad you liked the poem .Many thanks for visiting by .Will be dropping by shortly .
Love, Ankita

[John Alexander McFadyen]

Prostitution is often thrust upon some people simply because they need to survive and feed their family. Often they are vulnerable even if they play the part and indeed they are used again and again and again. An interesting but sad and all too real story in verse.

Line 9 I think should read 'Secret folds of warm flesh'?

[Ankita Dwivedi]

YEAH , it should. It is a typing error .Well sad it is , but i think it takes a certain level of bravery on her part to not play the victim when she knows it is the only choice for her .You might have bumped into her in the market , or didn't ..but she is everywhere and above all within us ..Many thanks for visiting , dear .
Love, Ankita

[Cyprian Van Dyke]

Writing poetry with A REAL reason is like dieting, you eat the right things but still don't get the results you want. But sooner or later you have to be honest with yourself that you make a lot of mistakes and that's why you're not getting the results you want. So what if you just did everything right, no mistakes, would you see the results you wanted? Ankita, you've done this poem right. It's so beautifully explained and expressed. You had me hanging on your every word (you even educated me on some, thank you for that), on every line and every emotion. tyfs

[Ankita Dwivedi]

OH! nothing can make a poet more happy than knowing that the poem ,the character has been justified .i am so glad that you took out the time to read my work and review it ..Many thanks ,sweet .
Love, Ankita

[Cyprian Van Dyke]

You're most welcome, Ankita,

[Lorry]

Paper can never replace love, no matter the numbers involved, yet we do lust after those greenbacks and despite its brief pleasure, it can lead to us feeling used and soiled for what we do for it. In the end, we let ourselves down for a clearly stated price and no amount of scrubbing can erase that stain from our cumulative value. We are indeed our own worst enemy.
Then add to that our undervalued wages, bills and the ongoing cycle of getting by and we realise that the can of worms is well and truly opened and our own value takes another hit in others estimation. It's no wonder we struggle to get through life unscathed.
Now we can through in the next ingredient of the sexes and all plans are null and void as the chaos ensues.
Greed, need or selfishness are all causes, but so too is responsibility. Family and loved ones don't always get to see the scars of what we will do for them so they don't need to be the ones doing it. We shouldn't judge, but we do.

[Ankita Dwivedi]

It breaks my heart when people make judgements(i try never to), whereas they can't possibly know the hurt .In the end when we are on our deathbed ,all the money ,it's just so worthless then and it's only then that we realise it was our whole lives .If only we wouldn't have been so blind to see it .
Love , Ankita

[Einstein Noodle]

graphic character development ... a glimpse perhaps at that distant small room she keeps her virtue in ... to preserve her :( life on the mean streets takes a toll .. you remind your readers that it is "life" on those streets ... someone's daughter, sister, brother etc. ...here in the USA there is help available through many channels ... but gifts are worthless until they are accepted .. i also think your poem points out the dichotomy within us all ... i feel lots of creative tension in your lines ..
E.

[Ankita Dwivedi]

LIFE ON THE STREET ..none of us, dear sir , sitting in our houses can imagine what it is like .what pain can be held in a slammering heart that she wears on like glitter .I have tried to imagine , and can only hope i didn't fail her .
Love, Ankita

[Sami Khalil]

It is a powerful message you convey here about this woman but women in general sold as sex slaves or choosing to do to make ends meet. Your message is of awakening and compassion. Although some sell at the open market, the inner market of souls is enriching evil and victimization of others. Whoa! This will take volumes to shed light on this plight.

[Ankita Dwivedi]

Yeah , there is so much to show . We are all sold and we all buy .whether we accept it or not .Many thanks for visiting ,sweet.
LOVE,Ankita

[Sami Khalil]

You are welcome. Any time.