What a Woman

She doesn't even know her worth.
Giving away pieces of her every time she meets someone new.
Yet they don't even know they're taking souvenirs when they leave.
Now her body lies open on the autopsy table.
Footprints track and trace along her insides.
Cause of death was allowing people to walk all over her.
She was mistaken to have thought her broken bones
and punctured organs would heal themselves.
She allowed people to hurt her over and over again
until she was indifferent altogether.
What a woman.
Her body was her temple.
A secret place only meant to bare her hands and capture her eyes.
Yet she advertised it to those who asked,
so eager to please young men.
She allowed fingers to tiptoe across her skin,
like a wall sprayed with paint, graffiti-
but not showcased for the world to see like art.
She was a secret, and though not many could keep her,
one too many got a chance to try.
What a woman.
She was a good woman to everyone but herself.
She treated people how she'd want to be treated not taking into account
that she wasn't being treated the way she deserved.
A good person who always tried to be better-
What a woman, I say. What a woman.

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