I have been loved my many,

despised by many more -

some have called me divine,

others have called me whore.

Sometimes they were a comfort,

others they broke my heart.

It wasn't entirely my choice

that made me sell my art.

Love was what I needed

and what I wished to give;

It's not as if I wanted

to sell my body to live.

At first I did not know

the path I had set upon

would lead me only one way

into a world of scorn.

And yet they always come

seeking pleasure from me -

I give them what they need,

there's just money in it for me.

My body they may possess

for minutes and for hours;

my soul however stays

among the shining stars.

A courtesan, a woman does what she has to - whether by choice, providence, circumstances, force of nature or whatever and then the world rises in judgement. She is accused, tortured, hurt, hit and abused in many

different ways. And, what can she do? Who can she turn to? Nowhere, but the depths of her own heart, her soul where she finds some solace. Why?

Why must a 'woman of the night' be hurt so bad that she loses her tenderness, her essential femininity and becomes hard, untrusting, cynical?

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