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You can hear them in the nurseries addicted before they breathe. You can rock them, gently rock them, but still the babies grieve. You can watch them on a playground fighting foes that don’t exist,
A woman has rights, But I’m told it’s her choice if she dies on the table, Surgical steel stabbed through the womb, Bleeding out, bleeding death, Bleeding money.   A woman has rights,
Like emotion and color Time is a lie It puts into perspective Death and Life Black and White Night and Day
What have you done to me? Got wandering the streets at 3 AM. Knowing you're laying with another man. Got my will, fight, and strength in the palm of your hand.   I am foolish to fall in love
She walks home cautiously, peering down the street The man in this darkness she does not want to meet But still, he closely follows Locking the door, she feels strangely hollow
They say you see someone’s soul Through their eyes I see their souls In the money they Slide into my jacket  
She grabbed her pearl beads And her room key Left her soul in agony Cold street corners Search for donors Empty handed she won’t be Empty hearted, possibly Dying slowly, audibly
I look up in the sky And I wonder why? Why is it blue, When blue means, boo-hoo Why is all this happening to me? Why won’t someone help me? What else is there to live for?
Shadows, Acrosss the field, Across the meadow, Across the lawn and across the room, As the adults yawn and the children snore.   Lollipops, gumdrops, Nightmares and blessed dreams,
To question who I am and what I've been through
All day long!
She stands on the corner, barely 18 Hasn't showered in days but waits Waits for a man who needs an illegal touch The body of an adolescent becomes tainted She looks for independence on an incredibly tight leash
From the day we are born in our lives are in danger.From the moment she took her first breath,Her fate had been decided.She never even made it home.Straight to the chicken farm she went.
A dollar, a dime a minute Time is money honey, where'd you sleep last night? A stranger's bed is warmer Than the cold, hard street, she says, Every foot that walks on by Might as well be a kick in the face
For every child that cries at night, Rewind back to your own early times, Every laugh you laughed, every song you sang, Every child should experience the same.  Do not all children dance joyously, you say?
I spent a year in a foreign placeWandering about what truths I would learn or face...
Hardscrabble life
He is granted the Moses opening The water from her eyes drown the aftermath Penury has foisted her innocence Extenuating the bedlam accrues everyday The sight of flesh is beginning to sear
Her eyes,Melting away,Into sadness,Into decay,People who,Describe her look,May say she's undecided,But not a crook,When she rises early in the morning,She makes no sound,
When A woman lays down and gives her innocence to a man it's described as beautiful When A man takes advantage of the privelage it's often usual Being A good father to your child is unusual 
she struggles from the hardwood like a creamy stalliondrowning in a raging surf. her limbs the appendages of a white crab spider sprawl bent,slender supple bones. her eyes
A lady in disguise A mistress for a night Getting done up So they will take her down A slave to he who uses her He who justifies his deeds with a few coins A lady who knows no love
Rusty bricks painted by graffiti. Lit neon flickered—    Quick Draw! ATM Inside! Steam rose out of street grates as if it were ghostly fingers come to carry sinners below. The sign posted—  
Asha Neeman grew up in the suburbs of the big city, Always making others laugh, She was so witty. A great athlete and a straight “A” student, Every boy wanted to be with her, But hated her prudence.
Deep moans drift in the room. Liquid hunger screams from my veins. Acid leaks from my lips. Agony drips from my head. I am wounded, and all I want is more. more of her to heal my pain,
The only thing I'm good at is being banged in bed sheets over the head Bodies touch emotions would rush but there's none No passion no good reason or ration Just for money to blow, a high rate hoe
The freak sticks out like a sore thumb in school. All day, every day. She goes home and it's just the same. Nobody wants to speak to her for they fear they will be reduced in social status.
Blindfolded I am led to the asphalt And blindfolded I stand Hoping these men Will pave the way
In the night they seek young girls for their amusement sometimes they hunt with bait dripping with honey sweet words nice calls pretty gifts they crave injustice like its a bigmac
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