The Tyranny of this Town

She stands under street lights exhausted. From the day’s work, where she toiled under rain, storms, and blizzards, under the tyranny of this town. Jeers from the masses they yawp at her: Dance, monkey. Dance, monkey. Her soles are worn out, shedding tears. Her mother told her: Wipe your tears. Let no man see you sad. Stand tall. Never falter. So she convinced herself she needed no one. She fought, caution in the wind. But at night— she lies in bed, licking her wounds, scars exposed for the world to see. Bruises she carries, wounds she nurses— oblivious to the charm she emits. Hair as dark as the night, eyes that look like ebony, a temperament ever-changing the embodiment of perfection. Every blemish... imperfectly, perfect.