A stripper named Destiny

 I met a stripper last night

Sitting alone in a waffle house, smoking parliaments
drinking stale coffee, from a dirty white cup
Wreathed in faux fur, like a funeral shroud
 Gaudy make up, and desperation for her late night lament
Dark clothes and darker smudges under her eyes

She smiled at me, i returned the expression
She looked lost, emotionally bruised
    maybe I looked abhorred

"hey, c'mere and speak with me"
Her voice was a clash to the image
    Like fingernails on a chalk board

I complied

She was dissociatively alluring, charming
She had a peculiar way, felt like scrapped knees
Insistent with her language
Churning up fantastic stories with her talented tongue
A word smith in fishnets and body glitter

She told me her name was 
Destiny
she had gorgeous eyes, shimmering and bright
 eyes like surrendering
 Glowing with their own might, eyes like insanity

We shared a cup, and then another
She spoke
    I mostly nodded

"The nights just get so long
and I can't seem to scream out loud enough
So my words are heard, telling where I went wrong
and I can't get my bearings on seas too rough
It all relates to fear, and I think its getting much to late
To win this debate"
I gave her my ear, listening past the curling wisps
of Cigarette smoke and disheveled hair 
Her perfume, it smelled like despair

"These fucking animals, pawing at me"
she relates
"could you defend me? Could you set me free?" 
She was reeling "I'm scared to speak
Afraid of what might come out
I can't balance, can't get my footing
I can't get the feel
Its all confusion and doubt"
I glanced at the platform heels...

I had no words to console, no answers
I dropped a few bills on the counter for the coffee
The least I could do was pay
I just gave a sympathetic glance
Leaned to press lips to a heavy brow, a wish for reverie

And I smiled
Destiny's way