You twirl yourself around that silver pole.
Men whistling and shouting vulgarities, all while you pucker your lips, acting like you love it.
You dance as if the song that’s playing is your favorite one, perhaps it’s a song you’ve heard one too many times.
I look at your face and can almost hear you counting 5,6,7,8 all in your head, forcing yourself to remember the steps, not wanting to fuck it all up.
You touch your body with extreme passion, it’s as if you’re lusting for yourself.
Your hair flips in all sorts of directions and your heels stomp all around the floor.
The men keep shouting, the shouts get louder, but you keep dancing like the professional you are.
They all want you, at least a small piece of you.
They lust to have you for a night, even if it was for a second.
Wives didn’t matter as long as you were in their sight.
Money is thrown at you, your gratuity for the night.
Money that’s half yours and someone else’s.
You work so hard for so little but yet so much.
You’ve given it your all, your life is your profession.
You breath it, you live it and you are it.
The song nears to an end and you blow a kiss to all the patrons, you collect your money and walk off the stage.
Counting backstage, you count $100.
What a slow night, you wish you could’ve gotten more.
But there’s always another tomorrow.
You go to the bathroom and wipe your makeup off, revealing who you really are.
A star, a diamond in the rough.
You wonder where you’ll go after your job is done, but it sets fear into your soul; it’s something you never want to think about.
But yet, life goes back to normal and you go home and sleep just like the rest of us.
No music, no pole and no lights.
But you’ll be back there tomorrow.
You’ll be back to painting your picture.
The picture of a woman who loves what she’s doing, a woman who’s proud.
After all, who wouldn’t be after all these years?
But yet, you’re dull inside, just like millions of others in the world.
You have learned to deceive and learned to pretend.
You have become a true professional.
A professional at seeming how to love with a smile on her face but disgust in her heart.
You’ve learned to steal the souls of many with your eyes and body.
Souls of every kind.
But you’ll be back tomorrow, and so will I, watching you on stage, waiting for you to steal mine.