Who decides which of us deserve love? She asks the moon every night.
The only love she’s ever known was always taken from her. Men force their love on her, spilling it on her body.
Afterwards, she becomes irrelevant, not a thought wasted on her until the next craving.
So she gives herself on a pole to any man who walks in. Her heart melting on the stage before each private dance.
Because you don’t need your heart when you’re given love in the form of thirsty eyes, raised pants and crinkled paper.
This is what she sold her body and soul for.
This cannot be love. But it’s the only love she knows.