She escaped responsibility,
fought against stereotypes
that told her she was only
good for late-night rumps
and afternoon quickies.
She lived in the bar toting
her cigarette between
two manicured fingers,
lips pursed breathing smoke
and legs crossed with secrets.
Her stance screamed of whore
even when she spoke otherwise
trying to convince them she
would amount to something
despite all she had to overcome.
Great piece of writing
Great piece of writing
I applaud the accuracy of the poem's details.
J-Called