Sunday, July 28, 2013

Stripped By: Karen Pilarski


The hot lights illuminate on the sweaty brow. The silver thin pole is isolated the spotlight. A slender leg plays peek-a-boo behind a sheer curtain. 

Feet blistered from strutting and turning in spiked high heels. Gold body glitter brushes off the arms as legs spin around the pole and long hair whips all over the place.

Loud music blaring and men in business suits wagging tongues and panting create the scene. Money is in the process of being used to tuck or tease. 

Voyeurism is medicine for mediocre lives taken in sweet doses. 
One last flash of hidden body parts and lights go off. Onto the next provocative dancer to keep the audience enticed. 

The last performer counts up her money and a takes a quick sip of water and changes into street clothes. 
She may be the lady of the hour but not the lady of the night. 
A job like this is either thought of as sexy or seedy. I have never gone down this path. I have heard of people who did this to pay for school or pay off credit cards.

Lately I have had a new found respect for those get naked. Modesty and lack of high self esteem keeps me from disrobing on a stage.

I give major kudos to someone who can bare everything for the room and world to see. On top of that gets paid nicely if the night goes as planned. 

There is vulnerability in a lack of covers and fabric. I'm guilty of putting layers of clothes over myself. 
A wall stripped of paint and wood exposes what was hiding underneath all along. 

Wires, scratches and manure shaded paint coats the original condition of the wall. 
 As women we are like a wall. 

We cake on make up and attractive clothes to smother what lies beneath. The wall of a brave face and cosmetics shelters us from having to reveal ugly truths. 

Possibly it is poverty, an unhappy marriage, losing a job or a credit card purchase. The truths can be so simple like not wanting to cook or hating the spiked high heels she owns.

I can't speak for all ladies but I was brought up to plaster on a happy face and accept the circumstances. 

No longer a young girl, I can't bring myself to cover up and conceal much longer. 

Underneath the bright lights and facade is someone who hates being deceived. 

Baring my true self I see a person who longs for writing career and a toned body. 

Underneath the years of history told in wall paper and paint is me. 

Stripped.