So What, If I Am A Prostitute?

I opened my eyes,
I was there across the bed,
All alone.
The glitter of my skin, that yesterday shone,
Has faded away.

I walked,
Stumbling on my way.
Who am I?
The girl of the night.
Oh! For the happiness
That I want to receive in the bright light.

My virgin heart,
My bruised body.
My survival,
Is my struggle.

You eat me hungrily at night,
But under the warm sun rays,
You will look at me from the corner of your eyes.
Questioning along with others,
You win the glory of your clean character.
So what, if I am a prostitute?
Who the hell are you?
No, I am not pure,
But yes, I don’t fake innocence like you.

My subsistence,
Is in your existence
But shhh!!! Let me take the blame.
I am the predator and you are the innocent prey

Let me walk towards the darkness,
The brightness
Of your so-called idle world,
Urge me to ask
If I am the seller, aren’t you the buyer?
But still, I am pelted with abuses while you roam free.
Why?

*The article was originally published in the first edition (May 2018) of With The Coffee (Click here to download your free copy of the magazine)

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