A woman doesn’t understand why she earns no respect. She cries to friends about failed relationships, and I listen. Everyone listens. Many sympathize on the outside, but I see eyes rolling. I hear the whispers at her expense. I smell the contempt.
She doesn’t cares as bad attention is after all, attention. This woman offers her charms to men night after night. She doesn’t ask for money and she doesn’t enjoy it, her self esteem lowered due to a misunderstanding of life. She sees no worth in herself and neither do the men who succumb to her advances.
Exposed cleavage, heavy makeup and light, ill-fitting clothing accentuate her shape and draw him in. A matter of minutes, perhaps hours until the alcohol allows him to thrust himself inside her every orifice, filling the void she feels temporarily, making her feel needed and beautiful if only for a sweaty moment. I have not painted her scene yet because there is a hint of compassion that I feel. Still, I sketch out the details. I will make her a masterpiece. I will make her beautiful and I will love her violently. Until death do us part.