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.

6 thoughts on “THE NIGHTCLUB MUSE

    1. Thank you Lynn, people’s lives go wrong in many ways, resulting in sadness and it’s not really their fault. I met a woman like this once in a café, she poured her heart out and listened. Her early life choices were bad but once made there was no easy way to change. I went past the café about a month later, she was sat alone, again, with some lads smirking at her, killing time, So sad.

      Liked by 1 person

      1. That is sad. And true, oftentimes things happen through no fault of their own. At least there was one bright spot if no others, that was your listening. Sometimes that’s all a person needs, a little compassion, someone to be there and listen.

        Liked by 1 person

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