Provocative
the blonde in red
with crimson lips and ample breasts
hoisted high
for any willing man to see.
She paints her life in blood
her body's not worth what her mind is,
use the lesser for all it's worth
nothing.

Starve, should she?
Full bellied you can shrivel.
Die from lack of existence,
when no one cares to smile at her
and all she wants is a look in the face.
A girl attempting to ease an anguish-
a glass too cracked to fill with water,
to the brim with mud instead,
and you'd look at her with filth in your eyes
wouldn't you?

Tell me true that you would love her,
whore that she is
child that she is?
All her life's a steading thrusting
in and out
of her life
of her home
of all the people that might spare a note of sympathy.
Can't run to Mommy
won't run to Daddy,
bruises stain milk skin so bad
that buisness is sure to waver.

People daily walking past
jeering at the huss in humans clothing,
disgusting muck of what a girl had ought to be,
and you can't know through books
the way her spirit caves
from the weight of every man to mount.
Who's the dirty trash
when a girl is desperate for some help
and crying out into the sky
screaming at the night to take her
and you don't have the decency to help her to her feet?

Amazes me
how you can stare
at the pretty girl,
the smart girl,
the hopeful
trying-to-get-by girl,
and only see a ragged little whore.

07/19/2003

Author's Note: What people do to people....

Posted on 07/19/2003
Copyright © 2024 Trisha De Gracia