Thrown on the sidewalk you begged, a hostage to fortune, a cap between your legs, legs without socks. Your long hair mustn't have been washed for days, days of pain and nights with strange men without a roof. Yet how you must have washed your hands to remove their strange, mannish smells, and rinsed your mouth empty of their beer, beer that they belch as they belch you up after they've swallowed you. You shouldn't have known them any more than the sidewalk at so young an age, or at any age, driven from the shelters by men who rape, by men who can't pay for your habit. Your habit is one of so much pain, when will you cast it off? When will you rise from your bed of nails? www.geocities.com/odunford
Reason for writing:
The witnessing of the tragedy of prostitution and the recounting to me of the terror of rape
Birth sign: Aries
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