Turning tables

Dark haired girl, you

Rub ashened elbows with the window sill,

Cursing your neck for not being long enough.

You can barely see inside

But you already know how this scene goes,

This is how it looks like from the outside.

 

You know you will  still wear your pretty smile,

Even though it’s too tight around your chest,

As you serve up today’s cut of your soul

And lay it on his plate beside the vegetables

Then feel every bite tear your flesh from bone.

But you still won’t say a word.

 

Sad eyed girl,

You will learn to upturn the tables and raise hell,

Pick up your self respect laying at the door

Where he will no longer be wiping dusty lies off his feet

As he walks in to claim your body,

Because you own it, you always did.