Black Poetry : A Prostitutes Tale

Discussion in 'Black Poetry - Get Your Flow On!' started by Versatile, Mar 21, 2005.

  1. Versatile

    Versatile Well-Known Member MEMBER

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    Prostitutes Tale:

    I’m a prostitute I have a tale to tell
    From being on the streets to cold jail cells
    I never knew my mother the way other people do
    I has a new daddy every month or two
    The tale begins there I am just like my mother
    She lies and lies I never knew my real father
    I never had a real home
    On the streets we had to roam
    My mother wore clothes that barely covered her skin
    She needed them to support her sexual sins
    I was with her in the back of men’s cars
    I’ve been slapped around by some of them I still have the scars
    She did strange things to their private parts
    She got sick and made me start
    She said I was pretty and it was time for me to support myself
    She was dying of aids and not a thing I felt
    I know that it seems bad but I never knew how to feel
    I was coldhearted I only cared about my next meal
    I started to develop I had breasts and curves
    Men never failed to tell me with their perverted words
    I was locked up at time for prostitution
    I never knew it was illegal I went to no institution
    Just like my mother I got STD’s more than one time
    Then I had a client who said, “I’ll help you if you’ll be mine”
    I thought he was a pimp, many came my way
    There was something in his eyes I knew not what to say
    Sincerity was in his eyes I never seen that in years
    I wanted a break, I broke down in tears
    He put his arms around me and whispers in my ears
    Said if I came with him I will have nothing to fear
    I went in his car did I have a choice
    I never cried since I was a child my face was moist
    He took me in and cleaned me up
    I never knew fortune, I always had bad luck
    I never told him my name and he never asked
    He said he will wait until I am comfortable and think it will last
    He fed me everyday with good meals
    Over the months he thought me how to feel
    A year came by; I finally asked him why he wants this trash
    He said that he understood I needed the cash
    I told him I never knew anyone who loved me before
    He reminded me of my beauty from head to toe
    I wanted to cry and so I hugged him
    He meant everything; and I told him my name was Anita Lovin
     
  2. info-moetry

    info-moetry STAFF STAFF

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    Peace,

    Beautiful, Painful, but oh so powerful at the same time........there are still some "good samaritan's" out there......

    Like the way u tell the story of the ghetto poet..........scribe on!!!!

    peace
     
  3. $$RICH$$

    $$RICH$$ Lyon King Admin. STAFF

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    this has a deep depth yet sorrowful twist well felt
     
  4. watzinaname

    watzinaname Well-Known Member MEMBER

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    Such pain in a story that unfortunately does happen. And sometimes in life, we do run across people who just want to help, not hurt. Flow on poet.
     
  5. PropheticNsyght

    PropheticNsyght Well-Known Member MEMBER

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    Such depth...
    One wonders how something so sad can be beautiful at the same time...
    this is indeed the mark of a true poet.

    Love and peace.
     
  6. MzBlkAngel

    MzBlkAngel Well-Known Member MEMBER

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    like the depths of your tale..nice write
     
  7. Alpha Male

    Alpha Male Well-Known Member MEMBER

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    Good job

    great work, please continue.
     
  8. triniti424

    triniti424 Well-Known Member MEMBER

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    This one took me through

    a few sighs a moment of thought

    and the rest was contemplation bliss :) props poet :)
     
  9. Chastity

    Chastity Well-Known Member MEMBER

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    truly a walk on the lines of scribe...into reality. Good drop poet.
     
  10. angelicsage

    angelicsage Well-Known Member MEMBER

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    Intriguing poetry
    this would make a great short story
    you should consider expanding it
    your writing is captivating

    nice flow
     
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