The nightclub muse
She was once the nightclub’s sexual muse
though erotic is a word you wouldn’t use
to describe her now.
Her writhing moves entranced the blokes
but now she’s just ammo for vulgar jokes
they shouldn’t allow.
She won’t accept that the looks she gets
arn’t born of desire but lad’s cruel bets
but she still puts out.
She takes em back but she’s no whore
just lust never love and a closing door
maybe a ‘see ya’ shout.
Her Friday night red pulling dress
lies scrunched amongst the mess
of her bedsit floor.
Alone and sober she wipes a tear
the mirror revealed her secret fear
when herself she saw.
She pauses putting her lipstick back on the shelf
all she wanted was to be loved for being herself.