Thursday, June 14, 2012
Mental Prostitute
Try so hard to be someone
then you forget what you've become.
Your day job is a constant frown,
your diadem, a leaded crown.
You strut the streets with oppulence,
yet are not paid your recompense.
You lie, you cheat just to get by;
alone, you're broken, and you cry.
The world's a stage, but not for you.
You cannot ignore what is true:
you're a filthy, broken destitute,
at best, a mental prostitute.
Why wither, when you can regain
the treasure that you still disdain?
Labels:
Abuse,
Ambitions,
Cynicism,
Disdain,
Dishonesty,
Liar,
Lies,
Prostitute,
Sonnet,
Streets
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Beautiful writing......
ReplyDeleteAt first this seems to carry a simple message, then after full reading, not so. The poem oscillates between wealth (opulence) and poverty (not paid recompense, broken destitute). What I think it means is that physical wealth is gained at the cost of mental/moral poverty.
You read deeply into this, Jerome. I was pointing out the irony in there :)
DeleteOur slang here in States would call this "fronting". One's understanding is that it means to act like something you're not. To look wealthy and successful so as to be pleasing in the eye of others.
ReplyDeleteJerome's sentiments are spot on.
Well done, friend.
Thanks Cent. This is the first sonnet I'v written in months, and comes after a period of struggling with writing structured poems.
DeleteWe have a similar term here, "fronting", but I'm not quite sure what it means. :(
Will have to ask around. Thanks for dropping by!