Mental Prostitute

You try so hard to be someone
then you forget what you've become.
Your day job is a constant frown,
your diadem, a leaded crown.

You strut the streets with oppulence,
yet are not paid your recompense;
you lie, you cheat, just to get by.
alone, you're broken, and you cry.

The world's a stage, but not for you.
You cannot ignore what is true:
You are a broken destitute,
at best, a mental prostitute.

Why wither, when you can regain
the treasure that you still disdain?

About This Poem

Last Few Words: I really will want your opinion on this poem. It's my latest sonnet, and comes after a difficult time trying to write. *Half feet pointed out by Beau corrected.

Style/Type: Structured: Western

Review Request Direction: What did you think of my title?
How was my language use?
What did you think of the rhythm or pattern or pacing?

Review Request Intensity: I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back

Editing Stage: Editing - rough draft

About the Author

Region, Country: Ghana, GHA

Favorite Poets: William Shakespeare, Lord Byron, John Keats, Percy Shelley, Oscar Wilde, Alfred Lord Tennyson, Henry Longfellow, William Yates, Ezra Pound, Sylvia Plath

Comments

William Saint George

13 years ago

I see,

Thanks B. I got interested in the sonnet form back when I knew next to nothing about meter, so many of the sonnets I wrote then were not Shakespearean. This one isn't, and though the meter is (or seems to be) largely consistent, and it follows a strict rhyme scheme, I'll pass this on as a sonnet.

I'll correct the lines you pointed out. I'll admit I didn't think of any particular meter to write in. I just continued with what I started and before I was done: poof! A sonnet! :)