ManicDDaily

The Obsessive Stripper  (to know her was to love her)

To know her was to love her,
she just knew that was the case–
If the world scoped out her essence,
it would look beyond her face.

Not that her face was terrible–
round, sure, and sort of freckled
(but nothing like her dad claimed–
a hen’s bottom plucked and speckled–)

So, how to start? She bared her soul,
her deepest and her darkest–
but found that no one cared much
for truth at its most starkest–

Now, naked flesh was something else–
she noticed when the wind blew
and her skirt performed a Marilyn
that the street burst out with woohoo–
(woooooohooooooooooooo——-)

Wolf whistle wheezed into the breeze,
but it made her think again–
her dad had only mocked her face–
he’d approved below the chin.

She moved from skirt akimbo
to what they call decolleté,
neckline lower than limbo
on winners’ take-all-off day.

What she bared soon jiggled from shoulders
to waistline and well beyond
sashaying up her freckled thighs
past Venus’s precious mound.

But though the rhythmic clapping
burnished all her cheeks with glow,
still, she couldn’t see herself
as a girl the crowd cared to know–

not know for real, not know for self,
most certainly not for life–
her father’s sneer showed in their leer,
and cut her like a knife.

But to know her was to love her–
how could that not be true?
maybe the nightly dis-cloth-ure
left too much to be seen through.

So shaved her bod, so shaved her head,
uprooted every eyelash;
spoke without punctuation,
and spiked heels into the wet trash–

Stripped off, bleached out, believing
that revelations would end lonely days–
for to know her was to love her–
that just had to be the case.

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The above is a rather sad and far-too-long ditty written very belatedly for  the very creative Fireblossom’s Friday prompt of a while back on With Real Toads, to write a poem based upon an assortment of mandatory composite titles. I am also posting this for dVerse Poets Open Link Night, hosted by Tony Maude..