Entered the room
In those unfinished wears.
Her gut stopped her, 
Ignoring,
she went ahead
Knowing that she is not alone:
She carries the weight
Of her responsibilities
Like a sack
Hanging on her shoulder
That has forced her to give in
And become bolder.
Survival;
being the key motivation.
Survival;
Being the point of resolution,
She walked
into the spotlight
without anyone concerned
about her plight.
 Yet she does
What she does everyday
Like a machine, a dead body
Without a say.
Knowing that her profession
Is not her identity.
Knowing that she is bold
But not a wh**e.
Knowing that
She is more than just her body.
She knows
that she is the entire universe,
Contained in a cluster of atoms.
She knows her uniqueness
Better than any phantom.
She knows,
She is a human,
Selfless and kind:
Mature enough to realize
that the world is blind.
They call her
Pitiable and doomed
Not realizing
 the reality of their tomb.
 
Every morning
They get up.
 They do,
What they do everyday
Like a machine, a dead body
Without a say.
Living a life of pretense
And believing that
That is their identity.
They think
They live in a better air
Yet, every night
They still come to her.
Searching for an escape
Searching for an addiction.
Living a lie.
 
 
Hence, she walks up
the stage everyday
Knowing her worth,
Knowing her place.
Glad to not be one of them,
 Glad to be…
A Stripper.