Here I stand before you, barcode on my chest,
scan it, put your money on the dresser,
then I'll take care of the rest.
I'm only twelve but that doesn't matter,
do your worst then try your best,
my dreams on the wind they scatter,
just like all those who see us here.
You think that I don't realize that,
somethings clearly wrong with you?
go ahead and try to convince me,
tell me till your face turns blue.
I'm twelve thats why you like me,
don't pretend that it's not true.
Wasn't I the one who told you,
when I'm thirteen I'll be too old for you.
Life changes yet always stays the same,
for a once twelve year old prostitute.
Sex sells and thats just the way it is,
but I think my point is probably mute.
Author notes
Option1
I chose option one because this poem is true, I became a prostitute at twelve years old, with no pimp, because even at that age I realized sex sells, and it's something I've always lived by now sad as it is, I know a girl can always make it in this world one way or another however she has to, and television drives that point home everyday.
A contest entry
- . by Aurora Ceres.
700 points, ended December 21, 2007, 6 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
-
WoW!AWESOME WRITE!
-
Damn. That's a pretty cruel reminder of how ugly the world can be. I have to say I think the message is quite low and I do not agree with it at all... but .. that's just me.
Adding your comment:
