prostitution (Remove filter)


She was 19 and alone

No place to call her own

Two packed bags was all she called home


Her innocence taken from her long ago

All she is left with is a head full of dreams

She became an adult before she became a teen


Now she is chasing after Paper Love

For thirty minutes maybe more

Just knock on the door


She got her own room

She controls the mood

She w...

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Poetry 2016PrinceMoneyprostitution


agile mind dimmed by the drugs

they say shes a dopewhore; she fucks all the plugs

no one to care for her, shes losing her mind

but deep down inside theres a loving soul you'll find

scared of her shadow shes been badly abused

covered in makeup so you cant see that shes bruised

turned to the gang because it was the only thing left

but it wasnt what it seemed full of lies and ful...

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shes desperate for a fix

anything for the drugs so that includes taking dangerous risks

calling up every drug dealer she knows, to see if theyd give her something in exchange for taking off her clothes

didnt matter what they gave her, so long as she was high and the night was a blur

every couple hours a new man was involved

when she was caught one night her family was appauled

a ...

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A poem for my late father, Bernard.

Twas the dawning of Father's Day, so said Facebook
Not a feeling was stirring, not even a fuck.
No flowers were planted by the headstone with care
Cos a mad pauper's grave can have no headstone there.

The children were restless, and not in their beds
Cos visions of suicide danced in their heads
Of white overalls and of tablets and shame
And sickness and pimping, a life quite insane.


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AIDSDeath of a parentHIVprostitutionsuicide

The lady of the night.

There's a lady
who's known as the lady of the night. 
On the dot of 9-00 she arrives, 
with her fiery lips and fiery hips
dressed in colours that match her eyes. 
She totters on heels as high as a hand
and makes her way down the street 
to the place that she calls her place of work 
where her clients know that she’ll be. 
In driving rain she'll be there again 
as the drivers stutter on b...

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She crawls, blood red nails scratching at dirty bedroom walls, she desperately tries to scream but no voice is ever heard, from the strangled vocal chords of this trapped mockingbird.   From the day that she was born she's been fed nothing but lies, men have always looked at her with lust and desire in their eyes, forever hungry for a little piece of whatever it is that she has...

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