Columbia Circle

found this written in the margins of one of my notebooks from last semester

It was a cold dark day in the frozen wasteland that you called your home when you walked up to me with that s**t-eating grin like a cat bringing a dead rat to its master. Why were you so f*****g proud, you black-eyed s**t, you beaten w***e, you broken child from a broken home? What did you have to offer me that day when you asked me for my help? You had the bruises on your body and the liquor on your breath, and the twinkle in your eye that said you’d sell yourself for shelter. You weren’t much to look at that cold dark day near Christmas but once I scraped off all the caked-in blood and washed away the years of you built up like ancient mud, I found some other bombshell hiding underneath, a pretty princess waiting to be swept off of her feet. Do you want a castle, lady? Do you need a back rub, lady? What’s the going rate here, lady? Will you stay forever, lady?