Soul Harlot

What am I doing?
A piece of me dying every day.
Every night.
I’m slicing off pieces of myself,
giving them away for free.
The things we do for money…
am I even human anymore?
He ravishes my body but
my mind is far, far away.
Anywhere but here.
I stopped scrubbing my skin long ago
when I realized
it’s never enough.
Will I ever forget?
Will I ever be clean again?
My flesh is scarred and filthy.
Has it sunk in deeper?
Is perhaps my soul ruined as well?
He covers my mouth and squeezes my throat.
Poetry drips from my eyes.

tara caribou | ©2020

Read this and more in my poetry book, Four.

8 thoughts on “Soul Harlot

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