nervous in the drizzle

it's raining, really raining
(as far as oregon goes, anyway)
and i'm thinking even
my tears aren't falling as hard,
for once.
hard enough to
wash my goddamn windshield,
take the bug splatters into
the beyond.
my eyes
are so blurry the rain's
not even impacting, and
i think if i see that strip club
one more time this week i'll explode.
the same highway into the same
smoky hole where people think
they can buy my body
with the money they hold.
can they touch me, fuck me,
offer the pretty girl
a life vest, give me anything,
is it
better than nothing?
tell me,
is prostitution worth your time?
is your fingers brushing my twat
worth the forty dollars you throw at me
as if i'm a whore on the street?

you know, for all i use it
my education was a $20,000 WASTE

i'm telling you
it takes more, these days
than a drive to succeed,
it takes selling
your soul or your body or your skills,
who cares which?
whether it's shit wages or no insurance
or no money for food
or a stranger running
his fingers over your crotch

nothing is worth this,
nothing can give me back the respect i had for myself,
back when my body wasn't someone's commodity
and i don't
just mean naked,
i mean AT ALL,
like i'm nothing without
a job without a neat fucking category
to stick me in.

at this point i'm
welcoming the crying rain.
i'm wanting the skies to weep
even remotely
as hard as i do
i'm waving all my talent above my head
and thinking it'll be a fucking miracle
if anyone cares at all.
if anything
i could possibly do as a "profession"
can make up for this prostitution
of humanity,
as if some simple phrase
or job title
can give me back times
when i wasn't judged
by how much wealth i could amass
for my employers.