You open the doors, the doors to the heart of you
After all, it’s a part of you,
Sometimes a duty, sometimes a pleasure
and yet, so often abused, your womanhood, your glory
your disgrace, your undoing.
Now you walk, your eyes a tomb of sorrow
your head bent as though in penance for your existence
your face a blank mask of sorrow and unshed tears
your soul is bleeding unceasingly
that special smile, that graceful sway all a memory
now you wish for a cowardly way out, death.
To him, you are a shell, an object of pleasure,
and therein lies destruction
your tears mean nothing to him
trading you for his moment of greed, of pleasure.
He laughs, satisfied,
You turn away in disgrace, disgust both at him and yourself
your torment never ending, you weep silent tears, cursing your womanhood