The price of sweetness

I have as much to say about love,

As a poor child gazing

At the candy shop window

Has to say about treats, unavailable to her.

Not well taught at all how to make money,

She’s facing a steep learning curve

Of having to figure it out on her own.

What kind of ‘currency‘ am I lacking

That most sweetness of life

Has evaded me?

Is it looks?

Or the certain kind of conduct

All dating gurus promise to teach you

And make you irresistible,

Because you’d use the exact phrases they coined?

Or maybe, as some advise,

It’s you, the woman, keeping positive attitude

When the guy you’re with keeps fucking up —

Yet you’re only allowed to encourage him and smile,

’Cause you must “handle his ego with kid gloves”?

(Boy, you’d have to pay me... lots...

To NOT give you a piece of my mind

When you act like an ass...

But that’s called being a sex worker... isn’t it?)

Seriously, do I have to do all that stuff

I don’t understand or like?

I could have scoffed it... well, kinda did already

Because no results yet...

And will there ever be?

Yet I’m learning all I can, all that’s available.

What is it that I have to mold myself into

To get what I want?

Seems like I have no chance the way I am.

Is it pure good luck?

I don’t believe in total doom.

One has to put in an effort.

A lucky break won’t hurt

But waiting for it certainly will...

We’re all in sales in a way, and I had learned

That all those goodies on display

Need generous customers.

Here’s the game-changer:

I may as well be

That cheesecake in a brightly lit window,

Decorated with strawberries,

Topped off with chocolate,

In a golden box with red lace ribbons,

Teasing to come closer...

But where‘s the clientele?

Perhaps those lights aren’t bright enough

Or the box design ain’t en vogue this season,

Or there’s too much competition

And others have what I don’t...

Or could it be that most men, too,

Feel like penniless boys

Who can’t afford me?

Guys are damn proud creatures.

They’d watch from a distance,

Without being seen.

Some would just give up,

Some grab a hot sale next door,

And others might break in...

But the perfect deal... what that would be?

First of all, he has to be my cup of tea,

Or better coffee, fragrant and strong...

The type of man etched in my psyche

The one who makes me melt like ice-cream in the sun,

Whose character is as impressive as his looks,

His kindness equals his power,

And elegance is grounded by reality:

No fake facades, all truth.

How would he get me? What do I require?

His heart, whole heart, and yes, that rhymes — desire.

I am sweet poison, in such a way

That you can’t consume me

Without being consumed...

Poison indeed — for those

Who just want a quick bite.

I have a possessive side,

Which is given a bad rap in society,

Where everything is ought to be disposable,

Even soulmates.

Nope, I’m not your type of candy then...

And neither am I for the lazy brats

Who won’t learn to take care of what they have

Because it’s too much trouble.

Please walk on and catch that hot sale... phew.

For your information... I’m fine with the way I am —

A cheesecake, not a cheeseburger.

I will adjust my ribbons if needed,

Or play with extra flavors, decorations —

And lighting, when I can afford it.

But the base is the same...

I honor my limits.

On the other hand, that extra pizzas

Of ginger, cinnamon, bitter almonds,

And maybe a pinch of cayenne,

Where you don’t expect it

Is something I can’t betray and dull,

Despite being told I should,

To sell better.

So here I am... would you let your heart

Burst out of your chest,

And land right in the middle,

Amongst the strawberries,

Making my insides all saturated

With your blood?

I want YOU, all of you,

And love is nothing short of macabre.

Here we are... juxtaposed.

I am you and you are me,

Both the treat and the shopper.

The glass wall is exploding,

Sparkly shards falling at my feet

As my bleeding heart goes out for you.

But... you’re the man,

The one who is to walk on broken glass

To come get me.

Don’t worry, I‘ll have my share of that:

For a woman it’s built in,

For a man it’s optional.

Can you? Will you? I dare you.

Forget free samples... nothing is free

If it’s truly worthy.

I am.

November 30, 2020.

N.B.