Baby

days go by collapsing
my ideals
I have something
I can sell - myself

conflicted
on what I am
and even if I have a master
I adore
why my being demands them
or if it matters
that I don’t like it,
nor did I ask to be anyone’s wife


every body has them:
a limit, and a price

if I could shut up and believe in it
life would be grand
free of cares
simply never look into anyone’s eyes
I hate my being
crushed under a number
and all them who tie their worth over me

we buy and sell
rather than give and take
what the purchase of which
kills the purpose it fills
the choice to be and to love
freely