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Jar of Hearts
She gazed at the mirror and caressed her face,
But she couldn’t look for long without letting out a grimace.
She could never really look at herself with no makeup on,
Ever since what happened that fateful morn.
He had held her down and stripped her bare,
Left her with no dignity and shame to spare.
He left her with her wrists swollen and blood flowing down her thigh;
He left her without an answer she was left wondering why --
Why he had touched her…why he hadn’t left her alone?
Why he only saw her as a dog did a bone?
From that day on she never was the same,
Her face was painted; she was anythingbut tame.
Years later she had a red jar and a cigarette bowl.
She gained her worth from swinging around a pole.
She gazed at the mirror after she was done.
She could never really look at herself with no makeup on.
The card on the table reminded her of one of her first slays.
He had a wicked smile and money for days.
He would take her shopping and shower her with gifts,
But that was the only thing about him she really did miss.
On the inside he was perverse and unpolished,
Like a stunning building without the insides furnished.
Another kill came to mind as she glanced at her hand,
He was a well-to-do accountant with a wedding band.
He had 3 children and a beautiful wife,
But he could never really live without her in his life.
“At least he never had to,” she whispered to herself,
For she had taken a part of him and placed it on her shelf.
She grew a little despondent as she remembered her last slay.
He was kind and honest so she let herself slip away…
And that’s what made that kill particularly gory,
And unlike for the others for this one she was truly sorry.
It wasn’t just him, she also left wounded,
But at least he didn’t kill her, her death she precluded.
She remembered how she was with him; he made her feel free.
If she had met him first what a different woman she would be.
He always did try to make an honest woman out of her,
But she was too set in her ways and she rejected his offer.
She stopped for a minute to mourn the person she became,
Wondered if she could ever feel worth without playing the game.
The shelf held her trophies, her jar of hearts,
From all of the men who she’d put together and then ripped apart.
As she proceeded out, something held her back,
She saw her chest in the mirror and realized that her last had left a mark.
She wiped off her makeup and opened the jar,
She took a heart out and jumped in her car.
She decided she would take the heart to the last slay,
Because…she realized… he had also taken hers away.