Diary of a Working Girl

Tue, 09/15/2020 - 19:10 -- jsh2908

Girl alone or full on piled

As they slipped through blood,

“Oh this girl’s wild”

She didn’t know her breaths could be swallowed

Oh no, she was just a child


4, 5, who loses count?

“Where is my rescue,

What’s this about?”


Men on rotation

Hearing the bed shudder

Her soul-emptied isolation

Was their new world order


Orgasms of screams

Remembering the memes

Rape 1 in 5

But gangs sing 4 and he’s number 5


Definitely no lotion

Toilet paper wipes peel skin if you let them

The shush was supposedly potion

But their shakes just ripped her open


Her soul surrendering to the knives

Stomach hurls as the bones curl

“These men will surely give me hives”

All this time, still she never cries

Why? Why, God why?


My heart was pinned down in my stomach

No voice, nowhere to run, nowhere to hide

I would never lie. No never cry.

Too terrified of their clutch to ever do such


These men held my soul and took my dignity

Stole me, in and out, without a penny

They say working girl, but I just want to hurl

Now words swallowed in wails because pimps only want sales


Afterward, stripped bare, I struggled to do my hair

Pulled tight, who even cares about their height?

Not the cops, it’s not their fight

In the shower they loosed their power

Then the door opened and I flew from the night

This poem is about: 
My community
Our world
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 



Your words transport the reader to the scene of the soul, an experience that is both painful and poignant. A hand that twists the heart of our humanity and makes us yearn for a world where this level of suffering does not exist. You are master of the craft.

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