Wet Work
They paid for pieces they could never truly keep,
While I kept selling names that weren't my own.
I learned to smile through promises way too cheap,
Then contemplate the silence walking home alone.
Every night's an auction dressed in borrowed grace,
Where loneliness and money shake their hands.
Some women looked hungry, staring at my face,
Some only came to purchase their demands.
They swore desire was written in my eyes,
I knew the difference hunger learned to wear.
A practiced smile can imitate surprise,
When hope's been evicted from elsewhere.
Perfume and diamonds filled expensive rooms,
Lonely hearts hidden underneath designer names.
Some wore wedding rings beneath expensive perfume,
Yet all of them arrived playing different games.
They praised my confidence, my shoulders, and my grin,
Like somehow I was built without a bruise.
But every role I slipped so neatly in
Was one more piece of me I'd slowly lose.
They judged the shoes that walked this winding road,
But never asked what journey brought me here.
It's easy to weigh someone else's load,
When you've never carried your survival wrapped in tears.
The mirror knows the giglo in me leaves by dawn.
But the bills stay longer than the shame can.
The freak they imagined soon was gone,
Leaving only what remained beneath the tan.
Funny how the preacher's wife cursed my name,
Then passed me later, acting twice as kind.
Turns out daylight and midnight just ain't the same,
When shame puts on a different state of mind.
I wasn't selling pleasure—just another day,
Trying to keep tomorrow from the cold.
Some folks inherit chances, and some just pray.
Some learn that their dignity can still be sold.
So if you ask me what this work has done,
It taught me every price ain't paid with cash.
I made my living wearing borrowed faces...
Until my own became just another mask.
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