I am Persephone;
queen of the cursed and the ******,
bogged down by chains made of
greed and desperation.
My value lies on a stained mattress;
my worth measured by the broken fingernails
left on the skin of my paychecks,
fragments of myself given for an hour of their pleasure.
I know nothing but chapped lips and blissful vacancy,
outstretched hands met with violence.
I am no longer a spring flower;
wilted beyond recognition,
I am better suited for examination under glass than
I ever was for life in damp alleys.
But for all my inadequacies,
there are three things for which I'm certain:
there's a price to pay for naivety,
innocence is a lie,
and we're not all created equal.
A pretty face is worth its weight in gold;
sold to the highest bidder,
there's no room for integrity
when wolves are nipping at your heels.
hard years have taught me this:
silver spoons nourish the undeserving
and even the virtuous come with a price tag.
We are all marred by what we do to get by, and ideas mean nothing
if wrapped in the skin of a *****.
And it makes me wonder;
which one weighs more,
a pound of flesh,
or a pound of promise.
- K.M.